A Different Path
by Kallisto12
Summary: AU after season 2. After the events of mount weather Clarke leaves. Seven years later she has created a new life for herself and is happy. What happens when her old life comes back to haunt her? Will the life she made be destroyed? Will her friends forgive her abandonment? Will she be able to reconcile the two worlds?
1. Chapter 1

AN: I do not own the 100. I have not caught up on the last season so nothing from that season will be included. I have kind of been obsessed with the pairing in this story but only one person ever seems to write about them, so I did it myself.

One part of the story may seem to have a lot of Octavia hate. To be clear, I don't hate Octavia. I think her character has been going down a dark path, however, and like Jasper she is losing herself. She also reminds me a friend a great deal. In the fact that she is like tornado. Her personality eclipses everyone around her and it can be difficult to deal with at times.

If you wish to comment please do. I would like to know if the story is too wordy. If it is I may have to reevaluate. Currently it is almost done but that is also because it does not have a clear resolution at the moment.

Italics are trigedasleng. I'm not good at it and I don't pretend to be, so don't be expecting a great deal in that area.

Summary: Will contain some flashbacks but mainly takes place seven years after the events of mount weather. Clarke leaves Arcadia to find herself and this time is not alone. Overtime she is able to settle down and create a life for herself. But when her old life comes knocking on her door she fears losing everything she has created, including a loving family.

A Different Path

Clarke stood outside the gates of Arcadia. She had told Bellamy she couldn't stay, couldn't look at the faces of those she'd saved without remembering all the lives she'd sacrificed to get them there. He and Monty didn't feel the weight like she did, she had the final say, she made the decision, and now she had to live with the consequences. She turned away from the village then, away from the bustling sounds of her people preparing to start their new lives on the ground.

With each crunch of the ground beneath her feet, she got further and further away. And with each step she felt a pressure ease off her. The guilt remained but she no longer felt the burden of leadership weighing her down. That was the other reason she had to leave. She simply could not lead them anymore. It was too much, too great a responsibility for her to handle. It was hard to remember that she was only a nineteen-year-old girl, too young to have to make life or death decisions that affected hundreds. But she had chosen to take up the helm, had made the choice with Bellamy to lead their people when no one else could or would.

Here on the ground it wasn't unusual for the young to lead. Lexa was barely older than she was and she had lead her people for many years already. Clarke couldn't imagine the strain she must feel.

Stopping she took a relaxing breath, what felt like the first one she'd taken since she'd landed here on earth. She looked up into the lush green canopy, the twilight casting soft shadows around her. She itched to draw it, to paint it, to in some way capture it. It had been so long since she'd let her artistic side free. She sighed sadly, knowing that it still wasn't the time for it. But maybe one day soon.

She looked up at the sky once again, this time with a practical eye. She had a few hours before the sun set, she could get a couple miles of walking out of that before she had to make camp. She wouldn't reach her destination tonight, not even tomorrow night, but soon enough. With a weary sigh, Clarke trudged on at a brisk pace. She had work to do. And then maybe after that she could find some semblance of peace.

…..

7 Years Later…

Clarke's eyes drifted slowly open. She always woke before the sun. She could never seem to make her body sleep later, even if she wanted to, even though she knew she should. But she had always had trouble sleeping late. How could she sleep when there was so much she could be doing? Her mom had been the same way, she wondered if she was still like that or if that had changed in the years since they'd been apart.

Clarke stretched, her joints popping with the strain. It felt good. She had been stuck with a very limited range of movement and even just doing simple things like stretching helped to scratch the restless itch that had settled under her skin. The restless was not completely abated, however.

It didn't help that she hadn't been sleeping well. She never sleeps well when her husband's away, she couldn't help it. It was even worse this time though, her husband having taken their son with him this time. She'd never thought she'd be one of those women who needed another to sleep soundly at night but she did. She needed their soft breathing, their sleep twitches, and even their warm scent. She missed them terribly. She consoled herself with the fact that they would be returning in three days' time. She could suck it up. Clarke sat up then rubbing her stomach comfortingly, letting out a big yawn.

She left her room, going into the main living area of the cabin, giving her small home an appraising look as she did. It was clean, abnormally so, another thing that happened while her husband and son were away. She could never stop herself from tiding up but then when no one messed it up within the hour she found herself downhearted. She knew it was a ridiculous reaction, she raged all day long at their inability to straighten up after themselves. It wasn't that they were pigs, but her son would forget to pick up his toys and her husband would litter the table with art supplies when he got too involved in a painting. When they were gone it was one of the things she missed the most

Something that wasn't exactly important but was definitely on the list, was her husband's cooking. She was no slouch in the kitchen but he, he made art. Her mouth began to water just thinking about some of the meals he had cooked. The simple breakfast Clarke had made for herself was unsatisfying after that.

Finishing up her morning routine, she washed her face. Drying it off she stared at her reflection in a roughly hewn mirror. In the seven years since she had left Arcadia, her appearance had not had changed much. She often forgot how young she was supposed to be, when in reality she felt like she had lived decades beyond what she had. Her eyes held a few more wrinkles around them, her joints protested a little bit more, and her hair had a few more greys. But no one who had known her could mistake her, the only real difference was the long-jagged scar that ran from the middle of her throat up to where her neck met her jaw. She shook her head, avoiding the memory.

What pleased her most about her current appearance was her blonde locks. A few years ago, she decided that it was safe enough for her to return to her true hair color. Before that she had been dying it crudely with crushed up beetles. She had remembered reading once that the method had once been used to create ink for tattoos by certain cultures. The result was bluer then she would've liked but it did the trick. Now though she could look at her reflection and see herself, which most days was a blessing and a curse.

By the time she finished, the sun was now shinning into her two-bedroom home warming the rooms up. Leaving her musings behind, she left the house, moving slower than she'd like. Many of her neighbors were up as well and waved to her in greeting. It constantly surprised her how well liked she was here. She believed it was because of her medical knowledge, but her husband assured her it had nothing to do with that. He said she cared about them and in return they cared about her, she was valued for who she was, not what she could offer them. Most days she believed him.

Clarke stopped at the hut next to hers to check in on her elderly neighbor, Tybe. He lived with his daughter and grandson, but they were currently away. They, like her husband and son, along with many others' husbands, wives, and children were away on the _springa._ It was an annual month-long trip. The hunters and protectors of the tribe would take the children who were ready and go into the woods to learn to live off the land. To appreciate what they had and what the world had to offer.

Clarke had gone once. It had been fairly easy for her. After she had left her people she had lived in the wild for months, most of that time she had been alone. So being with a group of experienced grounders had been a walk in the park. She hadn't gone again because she had set up her clinic and leaving for extended periods of time was difficult.

Knocking, she entered the cabin. She had told Talynn, Tybe's daughter, that she would look in on him while she was away. Tybe was one of the few members of the village who had never warmed up to her. It was no secret that Clarke was _skaikru_ , but it was rarely discussed. Only the children asked her questions about where she had come from, what her life had been like. Most of the villagers had come to accept her but there were some, like Tybe, who harbored grudges. At least he was not openly hostile towards her, he was just rude. In return Clarke was professional towards him. Her husband on the other hand returned his discourtesy, but kept it civil at the very least for peace's sake.

Tybe excited his room as Clarke placed some vegetables, that she had traded for him yesterday, on the kitchen table. She could just make out Tybe's slight grumblings that sounded along the lines of ' _skaikru bitch thinks she owns everything. Barging into my house unwelcome._ ' Clarke rolled her eyes, her back being turned to him so he would not see, not that she cared much anymore if he did.

" _I brought you some vegetables, I know you still have some meat left over from last week. Do you need me to pick you up anything today?"_ Clarke said politely addressing him in trigedasleng.

 _"_ _I do not need a minder,"_ was his only reply.

Clarke knew he was correct to an extent. He was older but he was still capable. He could make it to the town market and pick up his own food but he wouldn't. He rarely left the house since his wife's passing, the only time he did was to go hunting. But a person could not live on meat alone. So, she made sure he had well rounded meals.

 _"_ _Talynn and Marx will be back in three days."_ He scoffed at her and she finally turned to look at him offering a tight smile. He stood tall, almost 6'4, his hair was cropped to his scalp, and he carried the scars of a seasoned warrior. _"As always if you need anything I will be at the clinic."_

 _"_ _A woman in your condition should not be around the sick."_ He said it not out of concern but as a criticism. He thought to shame her.

 _"_ _Thank you for your concern, but I am very careful."_ She answered with a steely glare at the man. He stared back at her but glanced away first. Clarke would not insult him but she would not stand idly by either. _"Have a good day."_ She called over her shoulder as she left his home.

When she was clear of the hut she let out a frustrated huff. This was not turning out to be a good day. She was growing increasingly more agitated. She hoped things would take a turn when she got to the clinic.

Her clinic, because privately she thought of it as hers, was the largest structure in the village. It was the size of three huts and fit ten beds comfortably, along with one small rustic operating room. She was very proud of it. When she had arrived at the village their medical hut was barely the size of one small hut. Their healer, Atha, had been wonderful but she lacked the support needed to build it up. Atha had been Clarke's first friend here. She was the one who made Clarke believe she could have a home here, start a new life here, free from the sins of her past. Atha had passed on just last year. It had simply been her time to go, her fight was over and there was simply nothing to be done about it. But Clarke still missed her dearly. She had taught Clarke invaluable lessons. Clarke was schooled in the clinical side of medicine, but lacked the medicinal side. That had much to do with the fact that she had been generally unfamiliar with earth's vegetation and it's healing qualities. Atha had corrected that quickly. She had taught her what herbs and plants around her could be used to treat illness, how much to administer, how to prepare them, and so much more.

Together they had built the clinic to what it was today. Healers from other villages often came to work and learn with her as well. She would teach them her surgical knowledge in exchange they would teach her anything they could. Even patients who could not be healed by their own healers would travel to be treated by her on occasion. Some would travel weeks to get here. Sometimes they could be helped, but others could not and all they could do was make them comfortable.

A few years ago, the ten spaced out beds turned into twenty-five cramped ones, when an illness had befallen the village. They had lost many that winter, but she and Atha had been able to develop a medicine that eased the symptoms enough to greatly increase the chances of the affected survival. They had been fortunate to not have suffered such a sickness again. Clarke wasn't sure she could handle one without Atha.

She entered the clinic and smiled. Fire pits lined the middle of the room to be lite during the winter months, while the walls were lined with windows to let fresh air and sunlight in. The walls were littered with art from villagers, patients, herself, and her husband. She felt that it could have a beneficial impact on a patient's physical improvement. At the very least, the artist that had been buried deep inside her for many years, loved to look at them.

Clarke waved a greeting to Bray, one of her apprentices. Bray had slept in the clinic last night staying on call. Being in such a small village it wasn't strictly necessary but the girl liked to do it. Clarke had a feeling it was more to do with escaping her overcrowded home. She had eight brothers and sisters and she was the oldest. She knew Bray loved her family but everyone needed their own space from time to time. Clarke had trekked into the wilderness alone for five months to get hers, she figured sleeping in the clinic was a better option for the young girl.

Clarke smiled when she spied the other reason Bray stayed in the clinic last night. Her favorite patient was still sleeping in one of the beds. Ember, was a ten-year old girl with severe asthma. Every few months she had to come in for a treatment. They would burn a mixture of herbs and have her inhale the smoke. It took a long time and often left her exhausted so she would often stay here rather than make the short journey home. Clarke loved her because she was inquisitive, kindhearted, and plain spoken. She had curly black hair, mocha skin, and wide grey eyes.

Clarke approached her quietly as not to wake her. She was sleeping upside down in the bed. She knew it was so she could stare at the painting that hung above her bed as she fell asleep. It was Ember's favorite. Clarke had never told her but she had painted it herself. It was a painting of the stars Clarke had been able to see from her window on the Ark. The sky swirled with black and an array of blues and purples. The stars glowing faintly. The picture always made her homesick which was strange. She did not want to return to the Ark, she loved her life here on earth. She had made mistakes, lost loved ones, made hard decisions, but she wouldn't choose to go back.

Clarke sat down on the stool that had been left beside the bed and brushed the curls away from the young girl's face. She yawned, her eyes tiredly opening. She blinked a few times, whipping the sleep from her eyes and stared up at Clarke, a small smile curving her lips.

"Morning," Ember said, a loud yawn cutting off the last half of the word causing Clarke to giggle.

"Morning."

"You look like crap," Clarke's giggle turned into a hard laugh. She loved the young girl's bluntness. "The baby keeping you up at night?" She asked as she reached out to rub Clarke's protruding stomach. She was eight months pregnant and couldn't wait to be done with it. Not only was she sick of being tired, morning sickness, limited movement, and the endless kicking. She desperately wanted to meet the life growing inside her. Ember's hand rested on the spot the baby was pushing against. She giggled when she felt the baby's toes wiggle under her skin. During her first pregnancy, this had deeply disturbed her, now she was unfortunately used to it.

"Yes, but it's also hard to sleep while they're away," the girl gave a hum of understanding. Her father and oldest sister were away as well. She had never been permitted to go on _springa_ due to her asthma. She knew the girl badly wanted to go, to prove herself to the village but her parents were not willing to take the risk. Clarke felt guilty knowing that her opinion as her doctor had a significant impact on their decision. Clarke knew that Ember's asthma would most likely led her to an early death. Ember would hopefully grow out of the worst of it, but it was more likely that it would exasperate, stunting her growth further and making it so she wouldn't be able to breath with even the simplest of movements. She often wondered if she should change her stance and suggest Ember be allowed to go so that she could experience as much as she could while she could. She just wasn't sure.

"They'll be home soon," the young girl consoled her.

Bray approached and sat down on the floor next to Clarke, leaning onto Ember's bed.

"Has he stopped kicking at all," Bray questioned her. Many had taken to referring to the baby as he even though they were unsure of to the baby's real gender. Her husband was steadfastly convinced it was a girl, however.

"No, he only ever stops moving for his father." Ember removed her hand then with a smile.

"Oh, so that's the real reason why you miss him," Bray joked. "Do you think you'll be able to teach the class today?" she asked turning serious.

Clarke must look more tired than she thought. Two years after opening the clinic Clarke had developed a sort seminar or class. It was simple first aid techniques that could be employed by anyone. She also started more advanced classes. Many of the grounders were not unfamiliar with applying field tactics to injuries. These classes just assured they were doing them correctly. She taught them how to stitch, how to sterilize their instruments, how to set bones, and how to cauterize wounds.

Her husband had even taken the classes. Before the classes he had been adapt with healing but after their son had been born he had feared he was unprepared. She smiled at the memory, he had been so serious. He often was, but he had been more so than usual saying he wanted to be ready in case anything happened. Thankfully, he had only needed the skills she taught him once. Their son had an affinity for climbing and he had fallen from the large oak that stood outside their home and hit his head on a branch on the way down. Clarke had been away treating a patient and returned home to a smiling puffy eyed four-year old with a large bandage wrapped around his head. She had been pleased to see the skill in which the four stitches had been applied. He now had a scar that intersected his eyebrow, but he was no worse for the wear, climbing the tree again the very next day.

Clarke considered Bray's question, "Actually, if you're up for it you could teach it." Bray looked surprised for a moment. She was still learning and had never taught the class by herself before. Either having Clarke or her other student, Samuel, with her. "You can handle it," Clarke assured her.

Bray smiled and nodded her head in acceptance.

The girls then descended into less serious topics, the clinic being empty for the moment, allowed them such freedom. Clarke was enlightened as too which young villagers were the pick of the litter, who was sleeping together, and who was stealing what and from who. She loved that town gossip was now part of her life.

An hour later Clarke heard someone enter the clinic and turned to find Ember's older brother, Cyril, coming towards them. She smiled at him as he joined the gossiping woman. Plopping right down on his sister's bed and squishing her, she cried out in indignation.

"So, _fisa_ , what's the diagnosis, will she live?" he said it in jest, his smile splitting his face as his sister shoved at him.

"She will, she's reacting better and better to the treatments, that's a very good sign," Clarke hoped she continued to respond positively to them.

He shook his head like he had just been given the worst news in the world. "You couldn't have given me some good news, _fisa_?"

Ember cried out in outrage, jumping on top of him. "You are the worst brother in the world. Next time you need me to cover for you after sneaking off to _Benji's_ you can just forget it."

He blushed at his sister's exclamation and quickly stood pulling her onto his back and walking quickly from the room all while she and Bray cackled. "See you around, _fisa_. Bray."

Ember turned as well as she could, plastered to her brother's back, and called back to her. "Don't worry, Clarke. Lincoln will be home soon and then the baby will finally let you sleep," she gave her one last toothy grin as she left the hut.

Clarke rubbed her stomach still smiling slightly. Lincoln would be home in three days and then maybe that knowing feeling in her stomach would go away. The sense that she had that something was coming. Lincoln would come home and put her at ease. She would curl up, her son in her arms, resting her head against Lincoln's shoulder and everything would be alright. Just three more days.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Bellamy was annoyed. He was often annoyed but more so than usual right now. He knew what they were doing was wrong. Wherever Clarke was, if she was even still alive, she had a new life far away from all their crap. But they didn't exactly have a choice.

For the last seven years, the _skaikru_ had had an unsteady alliance with the twelve grounder clans. Small skirmishes had taken place between them but nothing big enough to broker all-out war. But now, now the ice nation was causing trouble. Out of all the clans, they had been the one least accepting of the sky people. Fighting them every step of the way. They had continually prevented them from being initiated as the thirteenth clan and therefore being protected under the coalition.

They had only managed to survive due to their superior knowledge of advanced weaponry. Most gave them a wide birth, learning that they would not attack unless provoked. The events at mount weather made them feared among many. But when they had learned that _wanheda_ no longer stood with them, some began to grow bold and they had to fight.

Bellamy didn't blame Clarke for this, at least not anymore. He now understood why she left. She would have never been free, she would have been compelled to lead their people and been forced to make horrible decisions to ensure their survival. Bellamy himself, although not in charge any longer, had still had to make hard decisions. He now only hoped that Clarke got the life she deserved, the life she earned.

And now he was going to ruin it. The coalition was being redrawn. Lexa had created a clause that stated every ten years the treaty that created the coalition would be reexamined. This was their chance to join the coalition, the clans being included being at the soul discretion of the _heda_. All the clans had to do was convince her that they would honor the treaty and deserved a standing as a clan. The only problem was the ice nation queen, Nia, had declared that only the true leaders could represent the clans and convince the commander to include them.

Leaders by grounder definition could only be succeed by death. Either through natural causes, which was rare, or by combat, more common.

So, Kane and Abby were not seen as our true leaders, even though they were looked to and treated as such. They had tried lying, saying that Clarke was dead but Nia claimed that there had been sightings of her.

So here they were, he, Octavia, Indra, Monty, and, Lexa's protégé, Aden, had been searching for her for nearly two months and only had five months left to the deadline. They had a strong start. They knew where Clarke had initially gone. She had returned to mount weather and had burned the bodies of the mountain men. It must have taken her weeks to do it all by herself, but she did it. They had then followed her to a nearby village. She never stayed there but she would go there to trade goods. Bellamy had a feeling she had traded more than goods with the dealer's daughter. But it had been years since she had been there. The young girl had been able to tell us that she had died her blonde her black when bounty's for _wanheda_ began showing up and that she had once mentioned heading north.

Now they were grasping at straws. They headed north stopping in village after village and asking questions. They made sure to skirt ice nation territory, knowing Clarke would be smart enough to not settle in hostile territory. Recently they had heard tell of a healer that not only treated the sick but taught other healers. No one could give a description of her beyond that, however. Bellamy and Indra both realized that they were protecting whomever this healer was. They also refused to give them a specific location, but from the information they had gleamed, this healer resided west. They had already visited two villages in the area and only had two more to check. If they failed to find her they would have to think of something else.

Bellamy eyed Octavia in front of him. He was proud of the woman she had become, but couldn't help but miss the child she had outgrown. She was a respected warrior and an integral part in merging the two worlds. But she was angry. She had been angry for so long, he wasn't even sure she remembered how not to be. He worried what her reaction would be when, if, they found Clarke. Bellamy held no ill will against her but O saw what she did as abandonment. She was already angry with her from the bombing and after she left she felt Clarke was a coward.

She wasn't just angry at Clarke though. She fought with anyone and everyone. Picking fights with seasoned warriors, barely coming out the other side, fighting with Abby on every little issue. People at camp avoided her as best they could. Only he, Indra, and Jasper still tried to talk with her. Bellamy was at a loss of what to do. It had been years, and he knew she couldn't go on like this. Maybe if Lincoln was still around he would know what to do. But he had left not long after Clarke.

He remembered seeing Octavia storm off into the forest in a whirl of anger and went to see what had upset her so much. He had entered hers and Lincoln's quarters to find him packing his things.

"What's going on?" He left all hint of accusation out of his voice, but he still saw Lincoln tense. Bellamy had felt a brief sense at brotherly pride in making his little sister's significant other anxious. He knew it wasn't because Lincoln feared him, the guy could probably kill him with one hand tied behind his back, it was more out of a sense of respect or rather a need to prove himself to the most important person in O's life. He needn't have worried, he had proven himself long ago to Bellamy. But he wasn't going to tell him that.

"I am leaving," was all he said as he continued packing.

"Okay…Why?" Bellamy was confused and more than worried that O would be going with him. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she left.

Lincoln stopped and turned to him staring him straight in the eye. Bellamy had noticed the dark circles under his eyes, their haunted look, the way his body shook like he was chilled, he even heard the nightmares. His time as a reaper had scarred him and he knew the man was lost.

"Octavia is going down a path I cannot follow."

He let out a breath of relief then, knowing that at the very least Octavia was not going.

They were both silent after that. Still staring intently at one another. Until Bellamy nodded his acceptance. He knew Lincoln was right. He had seen the change in his sister. She was vengeance reborn. He and the others who had come through mount weather and so much more were tired. They wanted peace, the chance to start lives. But Octavia wanted blood. The injustices she had suffered on the Ark and then the ones she had faced here had broken her. He could tell Indra was doing her best to curve the darkness growing within her, but he wasn't sure if she would be able to.

Bellamy's thoughts were interrupted when Lincoln moved to leave. He stopped him with a light hand to his shoulder. Luckily, he saw that it was not a threatening move and allowed the action.

"What should I do?" He didn't have to say about Octavia. Lincoln would know.

He shook his head sadly, "I do not know. All I can tell you is to stand by her." Because he couldn't, was also left unsaid.

Bellamy nodded and they grasped forearms, pulling each other in for a one-handed masculine hug.

He had waited there for O to return and when she did he braced himself for the impending meltdown but none came. She calmly looked around and left the room going to retrieve some dinner.

Bellamy had waited days for the meltdown but none came. Until he realized she believed he would return. She was subtle about it but every time someone came through the gates he saw her eyes flick towards them and every time they were a little more disappointed. It killed Bellamy to see. He had tried broaching the subject with her but she steadfastly refused to talk about it. Months went by and she still held at hope. Bellamy was surprised that she hadn't seen how broken he was when he left. He needed time to heal and even when he did, Bellamy didn't believe he would return. He had thought maybe she would relent and go after him, he was sure Lincoln would've left a trail for her to follow in case she changed her mind, but she didn't.

Then one day, almost six months after he had left the flood gates open. He ran to her room when he heard the screams to find her using her sword to slash through every single possession she owned. Papers were scattered around the room being blown around by her actions. He could make out some pretty impressive drawings on them before O would cut through them or rip them apart with her bare hands. Guards had come running when they heard the noise but Bellamy waved them off. They nodded in understanding and turn around. He wasn't the only one who knew this had been a long time coming.

He let her rage for a few minutes longer when he slowly approached her. Reaching out and stilling her swinging hands he was able to get her to drop her blade. Only to have her turn on him and start beating his chest.

"O! O!" she continued to hit and kick him, "Octavia!" Her motions stilled but did not stop. Her screams did give way to quiet sobs.

Octavia didn't cry, Octavia never cried. He thinks it had to do with the fact that as a child she had to be kept almost completely silent for fear of being discovered. Over the years she had simply lost that instinctual ability.

But now she had it back. Bellamy embraced her and slowly lowered them to the ground. He held her cradled like a baby, like he had done so many times before but not for many years. He rocked and kissed her forehead letting her cry.

All she kept saying was, "He's gone. He's gone. He's gone." Again, and again. Bellamy closed his eyes, his own tears sliding from his eyes.

He didn't blame Lincoln for leaving, he even understood it. But he couldn't help but hate him a little bit for it, as he comforted his distraught sister.

Eventually Octavia exhausted herself enough to fall asleep and Bellamy picked her up and placed her in her partially destroyed bed. He tucked her in and kissed her forehead. He stole a pillow and lied down on the floor next to her bed. In the morning Octavia would whisper a 'thank you' to him and never speak of Lincoln or what had happened again, despite Bellamy's efforts.

Maybe finding Clarke would help Octavia come to terms. It was time for her to start a life separate from war and bloodshed. She had grown close with Jasper. His losing Maya and her Lincoln had solidified a bond between the two. Neither of them saw that they could be something more but it was obvious to everyone else. They confided in each other and relied on each other emotionally. Jasper was the only one who could get Octavia to smile anymore, just like she was the only one who could get him to crack a joke.

Monty had been so thankful to her, feeling like he owed her for even bringing back a piece of his brother. He and Bellamy wanted the same thing, for them to be happy. It was hard seeing their siblings so lost.

Indra motioned as they approached a village. They were relatively sure they wouldn't be attacked on first sight. Most had grown used to the sky people's appearance in their lives, even though there were still some outliers. Luckily, this village wasn't one of them.

The inhabitants gave them curious, some suspicious, looks but they were not aggressive towards them. Bellamy scanned the crowd, watching in case he had been wrong and these people did mean them harm. None moved to grip weapons, a few shuffled off wanting to avoid anything that would be occurring. Woman, children, and older inhabitants were not leaving though, which reassured Bellamy that violence was not being planned.

They walked towards the large firepit in the middle of town, knowing the village leader would be nearby, handling the days business. Smaller villages did not always have a designated leader but this one was large enough that it would need one.

An older man walked out of a nearby hut and greeted them, " _Heya."_

He was not hostile but weary. Bellamy could understand that, they were the exact same way when knew people came to Arcadia or encountered someone new while outside the gates.

O stepped forward being their translator, it not being Indra or Aden's place to speak for them. _"Osir kom Skaikru en ai gaf gouthru klir."_

Bellamy had learned some of the language over the years but he wasn't very good at it. Indra often ridiculed him on his pronunciation and the halting way he spoke it, taking time between each word so that he could form the next one. But he could understand it just fine.

The _nontu_ nodded his head in acquiesce. _"What brings the sky people here to our village?"_

He spoke in trigedasleng out of a desire to test them. _"We seek a wayward companion."_

That's what they had been claiming. Looking for a friend who had lost her way and they simply wanted her to return home. The grounders weren't stupid, they knew it was not as simple as that. Bellamy pushed his way to the front and ignored O's annoyed gaze.

 _"_ _She left many years ago and we need her help. No harm will come to her from us."_

The man nodded again, but this time with a hint of respect. He did however hear some villagers snicker at him, Indra joining with them. He rolled his eyes at her. But he was tired of this game. Octavia had learned to be a fairly decent diplomat in the grounder world. There politics having to do more with physical strength and blunt demands rather than finesse. Bellamy had no patience for any type though.

"And who is this woman you seek," the grounder thankfully switched to English. Bellamy did not try to stifle his sigh of relief hoping it would help relieve some of the tension. When some of the villagers giggled again he knew he had succeeded.

"May we speak in private?" Bellamy questioned. He didn't know these people and did not feel comfortable talking so openly. The _nontu_ led them into the hut he had originally emerged from. It was a simple one room meeting area. Each took a seat on the roughly made chairs that surrounded a large table. Two more grounders joined them, another man and an older woman who looked like the one they had been speaking with.

"She was our leader, she left us years ago but we need her help," Bellamy stated. "Her name is Clarke, we don't know if she's changed it. She had blonde hair, but could've dyed it."

"That is not much to go on," the grounder woman said.

"No, it's not," Bellamy admitted.

"She's also a healer." Monty spoke with his quiet but sure voice. "A good one."

The woman's eyes shifted unsurely to the man Bellamy assumed was her brother. But neither man reacted.

"We do not know of the woman you speak of."

"Liar," Octavia bit out harshly. Indra gave her a scolding glare. She had constantly tried to drill into the younger woman the need to show respect to appointed leaders. But O had never had good experiences with those in authority and refused to defer to them just because they were in charge.

" _Branwoda gada,"_ the woman spat at his sister. "You come into our village, ask for our help and then insult us."

Indra jumped to her second's defense. "The girl is impetuous, she did not mean to insult." O looked as if she had been betrayed but it melted to one of appreciation when she continued. "But she is not wrong."

A tense silence over took the room.

"We need Clarke to broker an alliance with the other clans," Bellamy pleaded. "All we want is peace. If Clarke knew I'm sure she would help us." Clarke may have left them but he knew she would still be willing to help if it meant saving lives, protecting her people. It was in her nature.

"You said she had been gone many years. Maybe she has changed. Maybe you never knew her to begin with, if she left her people without a leader." The female said angrily, still reeling from Octavia's insult.

Monty was quicker then Bellamy when standing up for their old friend. "She didn't. She left us in good hands, she would have never left us helpless. She just couldn't do it anymore." O let out a soft scoff, their leader eyed her suspiciously. Monty distracted him by catching his gaze. "I'm sure, as someone in charge, you can understand that. And Clarke she was so young. It was too much responsibility." His eyes softened at the truth of Monty's words.

"And what are your plans for this Clarke. For her to become your leader once more? Or to have her succeeded?" The _nontu_ questioned, his projected nonchalance a ruse.

Monty's eyes widened in surprise, "What? No. We could ne-"

Monty was beginning to ramble so Bellamy placed a comforting hand on his shoulder to still him. "One of our current leaders is Clarke's mother. She would never allow any harm to come to her. There will be no succession. After Clarke negotiates the treaty, good or bad, she is free to go if she wishes. If she wanted to stay we would welcome her back happily, she has been missed."

He ignored the feeling of O's glare. The leader turned to his comrades and silently came to a decision.

The _nontu_ did not look pleased with it. "As I said, we do not know of the woman you speak of."

Octavia banged her fists against the table and leaned across the table. "Fine, we'll find her ourselves," she growled out and stormed from the hut.

The rest of their responses were much tamer. Indra and Aden remained stoic while Monty looked crestfallen. Bellamy gave each of the grounders a respectful nod and followed his sister.

They lingered in the village an hour longer, trading and bartering for supplies. The people here were kind, they joked with them and told them of areas to avoid or where to find the best hunting and clean water. Bellamy hoped Clarke had settled in a village like this one.

Aden was just finishing up a game of what was similar to soccer with some of the local villagers. He acted so mature it was easy to forget he was barely fifteen. Clarke had been the same way, being older in action than in physical age.

Bellamy was standing next to Indra watching the game when Monty came over, his face creased with worry. "What do we do know?"

"We do what we have been. There are two more villages nearby. We go and search them."

"And if she's not there?"

"She is."

"How can you be sure?" This time Indra questioned him. "The _nontu_ obviously knows of who we speak but that does not mean she is still nearby. He could have met her years ago."

Bellamy subtly inclined his head to a young boy who was sitting out of the game. His arm was wrapped in a cast up to his elbow. "I've never known grounder healers to treat broken bones with casts." He turned to Indra, "Have you?"

Indra smiled, "No I have not."

A flicker of hope lite up Monty's facce as he studied the boy.

Bellamy called to Aden and the group set off. A renewed vigor in their steps. Finally feeling like they were close.


	3. Chapter 3

Everyone in town had taken the day off in preparation for the hunters return.

Well not everyone. If she was needed for an emergency everyone knew where to find her. She never truly had the day off, but she never minded.

There would be a great feast tonight that everyone would take part of. But instead of cooking like she should be, Clarke was painting.

Ember had asked her to help with a gift she was preparing for her sister in honor of her completed _springa._

Clarke had told her the stories of how each constellation had gotten their names. The grounders had similar stories but had lost the Greeks versions. Clarke enjoyed sharing them with her. Ember had decided to make her sister into a constellation. She had the rough form of a female warrior sanding tall, a spear (her sister's preferred weapon) planted next to her, point up. What was really captivating was her wild strands of hair spread over her right shoulder across the night sky, each end punctuated by a brilliant star.

Clarke was impressed with the young girl's work. "Your sister is going to love it," she said as she smiled warmly at her.

"Of course, she will," Clarke giggled at her false bravado. She could see how much Clarke's endorsement of her work meant to her.

"I'm just going out to get the wash. I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder as she left with basket in hand.

She began pulling her newly dried laundry down from the makeshift lines Lincoln had built for them. In the last three days, her feeling of unease had only grown. She desperately needed her family back.

Clarke paused in her work when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned towards the tree line scanning it. She didn't see anyone, but Clarke knew that that did not mean no one was there. She narrowed her eyes minutely, starring into the forest one last time before she quickly finished and returned to Ember.

Putting her load down she decided to make herself and her starving artist some much needed lunch. "Hey Picasso? What would you like for lunch?"

"What's Picasso?" Ember questioned confused.

"He was a very famous painter from before," she knew Clarke meant from before the world destroyed itself. Most grounders had forgotten Earth that was's history, partly because the knowledge had been lost, partly because it had not been necessary for their survival. They remembered and valued what would help them make it to the next day. History often fell to the wayside when survival was necessary. "He made very strange looking paintings and only became famous after he died."

"That sucks," the girl responded succinctly as Clarke prepared their small lunch. She hummed in agreement.

Just as she handed Ember her plate a knock came. Clarke's front door was cut in half so that the top could be opened while the bottom stayed closed. It had been very helpful when her son was young and they wanted fresh air and sun in the house, keeping the bottom half closed ensured that he could not wander off. Now he unfortunately knew how to unlock the door himself.

"It's probably my mom," Ember said as she jumped down from her stool and rushed to the door.

Clarke wiped her hands on a kitchen rag as she listened. She heard Ember swing open the top of the door and then ask, "Who are you?"

That got Clarke's attention. They lived in a small village, every person was recognizable if not by name, then by face. The only strangers who ever came to her door were seeking medical attention.

Clarke could not decipher the muffled reply and began to approach the door, "Ember, what is it? Do they need help? Are they hurt?"

Ember just turned back to her a distrustful look on her face, "They want to speak with you. None of them look hurt."

Clarke stuttered for just a moment, the feeling of unease filling her. She came up behind Ember and froze staring into the eyes of Bellamy Blake. She was caught between joy at seeing the people who had once been family to her and fear for what trouble they brought with them.

Ember looked up at her in concern. Clarke placed her hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her reassuringly. "Ember why don't you head on home. I need to have a talk with my old friends." The girl eyed her, refusing to budge. "It's okay," she reassured.

"What about my painting?" she stalled.

"You finished an hour ago," the girl blushed at being caught. "It needs time to dry before the feast. I'll bring it to you beforehand." Clarke hoped she hadn't just lied to her young friend.

Ember eyed the group once more and turned back to Clarke studying her face. Whatever she saw must have reassured her because she nodded, albeit reluctantly, and opened the door turning left towards her own home.

Clarke was happy she and Lincoln lived at the edge of the village. Only Tybe, his kin and one other neighbor stood near enough to see her visitors. Her other neighbor, luckily, was away at a friend's house preparing food for the feast tonight.

She looked her guests over. Indra stood tall and proud, just as she remembered. A young boy stood just behind them, who she did not recognize, but he had the look and manner of a grounder. Her eyes widened slightly at Octavia, she had embraced the grounder life completely. If Clarke had not known her before, she would have thought her one. What really threw her was the look of utter contempt on her face. She knew they had not parted on the best of terms but she had hoped time would have at least settled some of those old wounds. Apparently, not. But that look made Clarke hesitate before turning to Monty and Bellamy. She had been close with them. Monty had been like a brother to her and Bellamy, well Bellamy, was Bellamy. They had been coleaders and each other's closest confidants once. She did not think she could take it if they too looked at her with such disdain. But she took a deep breath and moved her eyes over to them.

What she saw stunned her. They both held wide smiles for her. Monty's tinged with a great deal of relief. Clarke couldn't help but smile in return, a great weight lifting from her, one that she had not realized she had been carrying for years.

Lincoln had known though. Over the years he had tried to convince her to get in contact with those she left behind. He did not want her to return, just as she didn't. But he had thought opening up a line of communication would ease the feeling of loss. She previously, just wrongly proven, believed that it would only cause her feelings of guilt and shame to linger longer. But he was right, like he often was. She had missed them so much.

"Clarke," Monty breathed out softly. The only word any of them had spoken to each other in seven years.

Clarke's eyes teared up as she let out a soft laugh. She opened the door and started towards Monty arms outstretched. Monty met her half way and enveloped her. Or at least he tried too. Clarke was still eight months pregnant and her overly large belly caused them to bump against each other, keeping them at least six inches apart. Monty was surprised for a moment before he looked down and another large grin split his face as he gently touched her stomach, coincidentally right where the baby was kicking. He looked up at her and they both laughed. Tears now cascading down her face. She blamed the hormones.

They went to embrace again, this time Monty folded himself in a way that allowed their torsos to touch.

"I missed you," Clarke whispered softly into Monty's hair. She could just barely make out his 'me too.'

They were interrupted by Bellamy's cough. The two broke apart, Clarke hastily whipping tears from her eyes. "Don't I get a hug, Princess?" Bellamy asked a smirk playing on his lips.

Clarke only rolled her eyes as she opened her arms to him. This time all she had to do was lean into his much taller form. She closed her eyes and savored the moment. When she heard Bellamy laugh she pulled away slightly to look up at him confused.

"I don't think the kid likes my very much. He keeps kicking me," Bellamy said.

Clarke laughed again, "It's not you. He never stops kicking. I've forgotten what it feels like to not have your organs constantly battered."

Bellamy winced at the image she presented.

Their happy reunion was shattered by the other Blake. "This is great and all, but we have business to attend to. Clarke, get your shit, we need to go."

"Octavia," Bellamy reprimanded harshly.

Clarke bristled at the demand, her unease returning tenfold. For a moment, she had forgotten that if they were here, it was because they needed something. She pulled away from Bellamy completely then. Silently happy for Octavia's sobering reminder. Bellamy looked torn at the new distance. But she ignored him as she straightened herself.

 _"_ _You bring more sky garbage to our village?"_ Tybe's voice startled her. She wasn't sure when he had left his home, but his presence was unwelcome. Bellamy tensed at his words, obviously understanding him.

"Don't worry, Tybe, they are not staying," Clarke never spoke to him in English, he was more difficult when she did, but she wanted to pay her friends the respect of talking to them in a language she knew they understood.

 _"_ _They had better not. Bad enough we have to put up with you. We don't need any more of your kind here."_

 _"_ _Ignorant back births like you are the reason we will never have peace,"_ Octavia told him angrily.

Tybe's stood up straight, puffing out his chest preparing for a fight.

"Come inside," Clarke quickly said hoping to avoid an argument. "Please," she added when Octavia did not make a motion to move. Monty and Bellamy ducked into her home, while Indra pushed Octavia, who was still glaring at Tybe, forward. The young boy followed last giving Clarke an appraising look as he did.

Clarke turned to Tybe then, _"Please return to your home. They will be gone by nightfall."_

 _"_ _They better. The only reason I put up with you is because of your husband."_

 _"_ _And the only reason I put up with is because of your daughter."_ Clarke threw over her shoulder as she entered the house.

Monty and Bellamy sat comfortably, if not stiffly, on her couch. Or what she called a couch. Is was really just a mishmash of puffy cushions sewn together against a wooden frame. Octavia stayed standing, walking around her home and eyeing everything critically. The boy had taken Ember's seat on the stool, he was eyeing her picture with interest. Indra stood at the door, gazing through the open door for any potential threats.

"Husband?" she questioned only loud enough for Clarke to hear. Clarke said nothing only giving her a hard look.

Clarke took a seat on the other stool, it being the only open seat that she would be able to get into and out of herself.

She saw the boy reach towards Ember's work, "Don't," he pulled his hand back quickly and looked at her. "Um…" she trailed off uncertain.

"Aden," he responded shyly.

"Aden," she smiled comfortingly, not having wanted to scare the boy. "It's still drying. If you touch it the paint will smudge. And I will have no choice but to subject you to Ember's wrath." She smiled as she said it, so he would understand it was a jape and not serious. She was rewarded by the slight uplift of the corners of his mouth. She guessed he was not a boy who smiled easily.

"You're good at that," Clarke turned to Octavia. Her harsh tone made sure she didn't mistake her statement for a complement. She raised her eyebrow in question and waited for Octavia to continue. "Letting others face the punishment for your mistakes."

Clarke didn't reply. Clarke had suffered greatly for her mistakes, she had spent years redeeming herself. Even now as a soon to be mother of two she questioned if she deserved the life she had made for herself. But she no longer wished to live in doubt and simply took life as it came to her. Octavia would believe what she wished though.

Ignoring his sister Bellamy spoke. "Clarke, we're sorry for barging into your life like this," Clarke heard a distinct 'I'm not' come from Octavia who stood behind her. "But we need your help."

"I figured as much," Clarke said gravely. The sting of his words was eased by the look of apology in both his and Monty's eyes. "But I'm not exactly capable of leading an army right now." Clarke said softly rubbing her stomach protectively.

"We don't need you too," Monty spoke up quickly. "We just need you to be our delegate."

Clarke was confused now. Bellamy exhaled harshly and proceeded to explain to her. The coalition was being reformed and only those seen as the official leaders of the clans could broker an agreement with the commander. And because leadership succession was determined by death, natural or otherwise, and not electoral vote, like the Arcadian's had, Clarke was still seen as the sky people's leader. Without her they would be excluded from the coalition and it would be open season on them. Which is exactly what the ice nation wanted.

Clarke listened intently. She wanted to help but she couldn't help but be afraid. That world had turned her into something that was dark and cruel. She didn't want to go back to that.

Bellamy had said that they weren't expecting her to come back for good, but he knew as well as she did that that life had a way of trapping people. She had escaped once, she did not think she would be able to do it again.

They had all been thankfully silent, letting Clarke process. "When is the coalition?"

"Five months, it'll take us three to get back. We should leave as soon as possible."

"Bellamy I'm eight months pregnant. Making that kind of trip right now is practically impossible. Delivering a baby on such a trip is a death warrant." Bellamy did not disagree. "Is there no clause to these rules where a second or surrogate can act in my stead."

"Not for this," it was not Bellamy but the young boy who answered. "The coalition is too important to be handled by anyone but those in charge. If you want your people to be inducted into it you must come and plead your case, no one else will be recognized."

"Who are you?"

"He is the commander's protegee," Indra answered from her spot. "Upon the commander's death, if he survives the conclave, he will become commander and lead the clans."

"Ok," it came out more as a question. "Why are you here?"

"The ice nation wanted to ensure that there would be no trickery and desired to send their own scout. Lexa, was able to override them on that and sent Aden instead. He isn't trying to make us fail," Bellamy explained.

Clarke nodded a tad overwhelmed. She was out of practice with politics and betrayal.

She couldn't go with them, she didn't want to. But she could see no other alternative. She wasn't selfish enough to let her people die when she could do something. This may finally be the thing that kills her though. She'd be putting not only her own life in danger, but the life of her unborn child.

But she had another child to think of, a husband as well. They were alive right now and needed her with them, but she needed them to be safe. And that meant keeping them far away from Tondc and Arcadia. The last time she had had to make a decision like this she had caused the extinction of an entire race of people.

This time she may lose the man who had grown to become the world to her and the child she loved more than live itself. Lincoln would never forgive her for leaving without him, but she couldn't risk it.

"Give me a moment, I need to pack some things." She said standing on shaking legs.

"But Clarke, what about the baby?" Monty asked concerned.

Clarke forced herself to hold back the tears that wanted to fall. The likelihood that she and the baby would both survive was slim, she knew that. She would do everything she could to ensure that they did, however. She would fight for this child just like she had fought for everything else. But Clarke was a realist at heart. "I've made sacrifices before, Monty," was all she said.

Bellamy hung his head and Monty looked ready to beg her to stay, after coming all this way to bring her back.

"Still as cold as ever," Octavia said venomously.

Clarke flushed with anger and stormed up to her and slapped her hard across the face. Octavia made a move to strike back but Bellamy was there quick as a flash putting himself between the two women and holding Octavia back.

"And what would you have me do, Octavia? The life of two verse the lives of hundreds!" Clarke raged at her. In a broken tone, she went on. "I was happy. I thought I had made reparations for the things I had done but _jus drein jus daun._ Right?" Octavia's eyes still radiated hate but there was also sorrow mixed in. "I love my child. I love him." Clarke's voice broke then and she had to take deep breaths to keep herself from bursting into tears. She was speaking not only about the one that was with her but the one she was hiding from them.

Monty got up reaching out to comfort her. Clarke waved him off, knowing that the touch would send her over the edge. He also wasn't the one she wanted to embrace her right now. She wanted Lincoln.

Staying in between them still, Bellamy turned towards her. "If you asked us to leave, we would. Right now. We would walk out of your life." Clarke knew he meant it too. "We'll find a way without you. Hell, we've been gone so long, they might have figured something out already."

He was offering her a way out, but it was based on a lie. "Bellamy, we both know that if there was even a chance that something else would work, you would have never come here."

Bellamy placed his hands on his hips and hung his head low again. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she said quietly as she walked away into her and Lincoln's room. She quickly packed. She kept it lite, being an experienced traveler, she knew what she would need and what she could do without. She kept her mind focused on the task at hand. Refusing to linger too long on anything in the room that would remind her of who she was losing.

When she was done she hastily wrote a sort note to Lincoln, placing it on the bed, where he would see it. _Please don't hate me. Please don't hate me._ She thought it over and over again, hoping that if she repeated them enough they would come true.

When she exited, the others all had their things ready to go. "We'll exit through the front and head into the forest, we'll double back around when we're far enough in so no one will see us."

Clarke's proposed route would not only avoid the village but the returning hunters. She wagered they had two hours before they returned. That would not be enough distance to ensure Lincoln would not follow them, however. She only hoped her note prevented him from doing so.

"Should we expect trouble," Bellamy asked.

"I have friends here who will be concerned at my leaving. The rest will simply not wish to lose their healer." Clarke flubbed slightly. She was a respected member of the village. Only Tybe and a few others would not care of her leaving. Tybe would only care due to a grudging respect he held for Lincoln. Everyone else who knew her well enough knew she would never willing leave pregnant and without her family. They would not understand that she was not willingly leaving but had to leave. They would all force her to stay until Lincoln returned, at the very least.

"We need some supplies," Octavia stated emotionless.

"We'll get them from the town over. We have to leave now."

"Why?" Indra questioned suspiciously.

Clarke answered her, pretending to be unbothered, "Today the hunters are returning from their annual trip. It will be easier to leave without them here. And if we do not hurry we will miss our opportunity."

Indra nodded, understanding Clarke's unsaid answer. Her husband would be retuning shortly and they needed to be gone before he did.

"Let's go," just as Bellamy spoke the words a horn sounded. Clarke cursed softly. She had misjudged their time.

"We have an hour. I had hoped we'd have longer. But that will have to do," Clarke rushed around the house, quickly securing everything so as not to alert Lincoln anything was wrong right away.

She followed the others out of her home and closed the door firmly trying to not think this would be the last time she ever saw it.

The others watched her waiting for her signal. She motioned to cross the path and past the home across from hers and into the woods.

She had barely made it ten steps when she had heard the pounding of feet and a small object rammed into her.


	4. Chapter 4

" _Nomon!"_ the little boy screamed as he hugged Clarke around the legs.

Clarke was both elated and distraught. She got to see her son again, but she knew her husband was not far behind. Them being here would make leaving almost impossible. She hoped she had the strength to do the right thing and that Lincoln would let her go.

Being too large around the middle to be able to pick him up, Clarke knelt and hugged her son.

"Hey sweetie," she was aware that the others had stopped and were now staring at her intimate moment. "What are you doing home so early?" She smiled at him through her worry, glancing around to see if her husband was near. She let out a breath when she didn't see him.

"We missed you, so we came back early," the little boy answered happily unawares to his mother's distress.

"Oh, I missed you too," she kissed his forehead repeatedly. And breathed deeply inhaling his unique smell. She brought herself back to reality and asked the question she desperately needed to know the answer to. "Where's your father?"

"He went to pick up that bread the baby likes," Clarke smiled sadly as he rubbed her stomach.

That was good though, it would give them some time. "Okay, sweetie, I need you to do me a favor," her son nodded. His big blue eyes, that matched her own, bore deeply into her own. She ran a hand through his shaggy black locks. His eyes were Clarke's but every other bit of him was his father's. Except his smile, Lincoln would say, he had his mother's smile. "I need you to go to Tybe's until your father gets back. Okay?"

"But I don't like him, he's mean to you, and daddy doesn't like him either."

"I know but I need you to-," he cut her off as six-year old's were oft to do.

"Who are they?" his eyes landing on the strangers (to him) behind her.

"They are from another village," his eyes studied them just as his father had taught him. "You know how mommy sometimes has to go and help sick people in other villages?" He nodded. "Well they have a sick friend that I have to go and take care of."

His knowing eyes returned to her. "But daddy said you weren't supposed to do that while the baby was still inside you. He said it was bad for the baby."

"I know but this is a special circumstance," she was pleading with him to understand. To ignore every instinct, he had that told him something was not right.

"Clarke," Bellamy called to her softly. He was unsure of what he was supposed to do here.

Clarke closed her eyes for a minute. When she opened them again they were hard. "Wells," she said sternly. Standing up and distancing herself from her child. "You will go to Tybe's now. Your father will be home soon and will come and get you."

"Bu-"

"No! I said now!" her son's eyes grew wide. She had upset him.

She faltered reaching out to comfort him when she heard a furious, "Clarke!" ring out from behind her. Turning she looked straight into the livid and worried gaze of her husband.

…

Bellamy thought this was what it must feel like to have a stroke. They finally find Clarke, actually spotting her from their vantage point outside the village only to discover her pregnant. But not only is she pregnant, she's already a mother to a young child and that child's father, and presumably the father of the one she's caring as well, is Lincoln. Lincoln. Octavia's Lincoln.

Bellamy had seen him first and thought he had been seeing a ghost. He watched as Lincoln had come down the road in a fury, still as silent as ever though. His confused look had turned enraged understanding when he saw Bellamy standing there with the others. His gaze had flicked over Octavia but did not linger. He did see a flash of disappointment, however.

Indra had seen him coming just after Bellamy had. He couldn't see her face but he did see her shoulders tense.

The others were alerted to his presences only when his cry of "Clarke!" startled them.

Monty jumped, while he heard Octavia gasp as Lincoln stormed up to Clarke. He had stared at her for a long time before her eyes dipped in shame. Bellamy would have laughed if everything else wasn't so horribly unfunny. Someone had finally cowed the Princess, he never thought he'd live to see the day.

The boy, Wells, Clarke had called him, clung to her leg eying the strangers harshly. Obviously blaming them for his parent's discord. He had his mother's stare, that was for sure.

Bellamy observed them. When they had first seen Clarke, he had been surprised at how healthy she looked. No dark circles, well fed, a healthy pallor to her skin, and most of all happy. He could see it in the way she carried herself. He'd also watched that happiness deflate as Bellamy explained that they needed her to comeback.

And if Clarke looked good, Lincoln looked like a new man. When he had left, he had been a shadow of his former self. He looked stronger than he did before, leaner, tougher, even wiser. He was a little dirty but Clarke said they had been on a camping trip so he guessed that was to be expected.

What really got him was the energy he could feel radiating off them. They were completely at ease in each other's presence, despite Lincoln's anger. Lincoln reached up and cupped Clarke's face between his hands forcing her eyes up to his. As her hand played absentmindedly in her son's hair, the other grasped his forearm, making circles with her thumb across his skin. His one hand slowly drifted down to her engorged stomach, laying softly against it. After a moment, he nodded and stepped back. A entirely silent conversation having taken place between them.

Bellamy had not meant to cause such trouble in their lives. Feeling the need to apologize he spoke, "Lincoln." His eyes that had been focusing on Clarke, shifted to him instantly, the fire within them rising at the potential threat. "I'm sorry. She didn't want to come with us."

"I know," was all he said.

Bellamy was unsure of how to continue. But in his moment of uncertainty Octavia jumped into action. She ran up to Lincoln and punched him in the face. Lincoln's head was thrown to the side but he quickly recovered turning back to her. So, she hit him again. Lincoln made no move to defend himself.

He heard Wells make an upset noise and Clarke said, "That's enough, Octavia!"

Octavia turned on Clarke then, raising her fist. Bellamy was just about to jump in when Lincoln grabbed her arm roughly and spun her back towards him. "Your quarrel is with me," he spoke through a tight jaw.

"Damn right it is," Octavia replied as she swung at him again.

This time Lincoln dodged. It seemed that even though he wouldn't fight back, he was done taking a beating. O kicked and punched and lunged, hitting him every fourth time. Even with all her training she could barely touch him. It was a testament to his skill but also to the fact that she let her emotions override her training.

Clarke had managed to pick Wells up, he hid his crying face into her neck as she whispered comforting words to him.

Octavia dived at Lincoln dragging him down to the ground. They rolled around for a while, fighting for dominance. When Octavia came out on top she began pounding against his chest with her fists.

Bellamy decided enough was enough. Lincoln didn't deserve this, even though he was acting like he did. If he wasn't going to stand up for himself Bellamy would have to. He walked up behind O and reached around trapping her arms against her chest, picking her up, her legs flailed widely as she screamed for him to let her go. Bellamy ignored her.

"Enough!" she continued to fight against him. "Octavia! Look what you're doing. You are beating a man in front of his child." He turned her so she could see the scared boy cuddled to his mother. Lincoln stood slightly in front of them, between his family and the angry woman. "Do you see what you're doing? He's terrified. You did that."

The fire in her died at his words and he lowered her to her feet. She took a couple more heaving breaths before she knocked Bellamy's hands away. He allowed it because he knew she had calmed down enough.

It was only in the reining silence that Bellamy became aware of another presence. He turned his attention to the man. It was Clarke's neighbor, the one who had been rude to them. He stood there, saber in hand glaring at them.

Lincoln followed his gaze and acknowledged the man with a nod.

 _"_ _You let the filthy sky whore beat you!"_ he spat out venomously. Bellamy bristled at the words. He did not condone his sister's actions but he would neither condone such vile language spoken about her or anyone.

Bellamy made a move to confront the man when Lincoln waved him off. _"These are my guests. You will not speak of them in such a way. This business is between us. Return to your home."_ Lincoln's voice was calm but firm. He would broker no argument.

The grounder growled and spit on the ground at Lincoln's feet. Giving them all one last scathing look he returned to his home

Lincoln turned on them then, Clarke tucked safely behind him. "Inside," it was not to be mistaken as a request.

They all filed back into Clarke's home, heads hung like scolded children.

Octavia stood where Indra had originally, closest to the door, furthest from everyone else in the room. He and Monty returned to their original seats, while Indra and Aden took up the stools.

Lincoln ushered Clarke into what she had previously said was her room, he turned to them and said, "Give us a moment."

Bellamy and the others sat uncomfortably. Monty fell back against the seat with a huff, "Well, this is a strange turn of events."

Everyone in the room grunted in agreement.

…

Lincoln was not pleased. This morning he had been elated with the thought of finally returning home to his wife and unborn child and now he felt everything was being ripped from him. He had not wanted to go on the _springa.,_ He had been reluctant to go with Clarke so close to her time. But she had convinced, reminding him how excited Wells was to attend his first one and that if anything were to happen someone in the village would easily be able to track them down, as they never went a great distance away. So, he had gone and was extremely grateful that his impatience to return to Clarke caused him to return early, if only just in time.

Lincoln stood arms folded leaning against the small dresser he had built for their room watching his family intently. Clarke was lying on her side on the bed, Wells lay across from her. She was stroking his hair and kissing his cheeks, that had dried streaks from tears running down them, intermittently as she hummed to him trying to get him to sleep.

She had done this many times before, and judging by their son's fluttering eyes it was still effective. He remembered the first time he had heard her hum like this. She had done it for the young man of their camp they had called Atom. He had suffered the effects of the acid fog and Clarke had done it to comfort him as she euthanized him, ending the poor boy's pain. Lincoln had had to do the same thing many times before, but he had never done it with such care. She hadn't known he had been watching at the time, he only told her after he had heard her humming while caressing her barely noticeable stomach during her first pregnancy. She had confided to him that her father had hummed to her when she was growing up whenever she was upset or scared and even when he was simply happy. She had instinctively carried on the tradition.

When he had entered the room, he had seen the note Clarke had written him. It was short, ' _Please forgive me. Protect Wells. Ai hod yu in."_ Lincoln had crumbled it in anger.

Clarke would only leave to protect them. She did not want them involved in this. He knew she had hoped that the need to protect their son would have prevented him from following. It wouldn't have. There were many trusted hunters he would have left Wells with while he tracked Clarke down. When he would have found her, he would have slaughtered them all if necessary.

He looked at his wife now. She was breathtaking. Her hair shone in the days light, her eyes were clear and focused and her skin was slightly flushed. But he could see the tension that now filled her. Clarke had often worried that her old life, that the sins of her past, would come back to take the life they had created together.

It was a constant nightmare for her. Not a month would go by where she wasn't awoken from sleep due to one. She would have to rise from bed, check on Wells, sometimes even getting in bed with him. She would always return to him eventually. They would entwin themselves, taking comfort in each other's bodies until the remnants of her nightmares drifted into memory. Clarke had always carried herself so rigidly and physically distant that he had been surprised to learn that she was a very physical being. He could not say that was something he disliked.

Lincoln couldn't blame Clarke for these fears, he shared them as well. He remained constantly vigilant for any possible threat, always ready. And now here one was and he still found himself wholly unprepared.

When Clarke finally got Wells to sleep she motioned for him to help her off the bed so she didn't make too much of a fuss getting up and undoing her work by waking him.

He took her hand and when she was safely on her feet he pulled her to him. Her head fit perfectly under his chin, his body curving around her bump so every inch of them was touching. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent to comfort him. The baby let out a soft kick against his stomach and he couldn't help but smile as Clarke giggled.

"He hasn't stopped kicking since you left," she told him softly.

"That is because _she_ is a restless warrior and a daddy's girl," he wasn't sure why, but he had a feeling in his gut that she carried a girl within her. The thought of having a mini Clarke warmed his heart.

"That she is," Clarke responded. He could feel his shirt grow wet with her warm tears. "Tell me it's not real."

He had never lied to her, would never lie to her. So, he only held her closer. He let Clarke cry into him and he kissed her forehead, his lips resting softly against her smooth skin.

She composed herself quickly knowing she could not afford to fall apart. He wished she did not have to be so strong. He too wanted nothing more than to collapse in her arms until the world drifted away. But they could not.

Before letting her go he looked deep into her eyes, " _Ai hod yu in."_

She smiled sadly back at him and replied, " _Ai hod yu in."_

Kissing deeply, they pulled away, both giving one last look to Wells' sleeping form before they exited their room and joined the others.

Lincoln's eyes went immediately to Octavia, not because of any still existing feelings, but because he saw her as the highest potential threat. She had secluded herself to the corner of the room nearest the door and Lincoln was perfectly happy with that.

A part of him still loved Octavia, would always love Octavia but he had seen all those years ago that they had started to want different things. Lincoln had wanted a life beyond the hate and anger that she was letting herself be consumed by. He wanted a family, a home, a future. He wanted the fearless girl he had seen dancing with luminescent butterflies, not the merciless warrior she had been turning into.

After Mount Weather Lincoln was done with the violence and death. His time as a reaper haunted him still. The memories only being chased away by Clarke's warm embrace and soft humming.

Octavia had wanted him to use that pain to inspire him to fight, to rage against those who would do such things. But he didn't want that, he wanted peace. Neither of them had been willing to give into the other's desires. So, he had left, unwilling to lose himself completely. It would seem that, Octavia had still not forgiven him.

The first time he had seen her, he had realized what a force Octavia was. Loving her was like loving a tornado. If you weren't careful you could be swept up completely by it. She had also always had an impetuousness that constantly warred against his own self-possessed nature. He knew Octavia had loved him just as much as he had loved her but it was an all-consuming love, the force of it always prevented an effortlessness. One he had found with Clarke, taking them both by surprise.

Still his once immense love for her had wanted her to find her own kind of peace. He was disappointed to see she hadn't. If anything, she had lost herself more.

He tore his eyes away from Octavia, who had refused to look at him, towards Indra and a young grounder boy he did not know. For someone who did not know her, Indra's expression would read as cold indifference. But to Lincoln he could see the apology in her eyes. She had not been pleased with him. His betrayal to the sky people had cut her deep. She saw him as a weak traitor who had squandered her efforts in making him into a warrior.

Before he had left they had slowly been rebuilding their relationship. And he had spoken with her seeking her wisdom. She had still been angry with him, he did not think she would ever completely forgive him, but she had grown to understand why he did what he did. He had told her of his feelings and she had advised him to go on a journey of the soul. 'A warrior at war with himself is a danger to not only himself, but all those who rely on him,' she had told him. He left the next day.

Lincoln helped Clarke into the remaining cushioned seat. She grumbled lightly about feeling useless but he did not mind. She was always so strong and independent he enjoyed it when she needed him for small things. Whenever he mentioned it, she reminded him that he was exactly the same way, refusing help unless it was absolutely necessary.

Lastly, he turned his attention to the two men on the couch. He had had his issues with Bellamy but they had overcome them and had begun forming a bond based on mutual respect. He had not been close with Monty but he had not disliked the boy. The latter now gave him a slightly dopey smile, letting Lincoln know that despite the circumstances he was actually happy to see him. Lincoln returned it with a slight nod, not in the mode for smiling.

"Explain," his voice was cold. The demand was directed towards Bellamy and everyone knew it.

After all these years people still looked to him for leadership, it was obvious. It was in his countenance. Clarke was the same, even in the village people had sought out her guidance as soon as they arrived. Even Lincoln had a touch of it, but it was largely overshadowed by his reserved nature, which he was often thankful for.

So, Bellamy explained. Lincoln knew that the law to which they spoke was outdated and rarely enforced, it was only being so now because of the ice nation's insistance. However, he also knew that when enforced there was no way around it. Clarke could only pass on her charge of leadership by death. And he did not plan on letting that happen anytime soon.

What Bellamy hadn't mentioned, either because he didn't know or thought it would sway Clarke away (knowing the man it was most likely the former) was that the assembly for the coalition was dangerous. This was the first one to be held, but judging by past similar meetings, Lincoln knew it was a potential blood bath. Clan leaders would use it as an opportunity to circumvent power positions, and any spies that had been implanted would be used against each other in order to gain favor with the commander, who could influence their trade and tax. Many had lost their lives.

Still, Lincoln knew why Clarke felt she needed to go. Without her, her people would most definitely be excluded from the pact. Their lands would be raided, their people killed or captured, their entire way of life would cease to exist. After all they had went through they would lose everything. Clarke had left them, but she hadn't stopped caring about them. He could tell her thoughts often turned to them just as his did.

Even knowing this, Lincoln couldn't help the feeling that arose within him. He wanted to tell them to get out of his home and never comeback. He wanted to take Clarke and Wells and run even further away than they had the last time.

In the years past he had tried to convince Clarke to get into contact with her mother or Bellamy to let them know she was alright and even find out how they were doing. He knew there was a risk in them telling her to comeback, saying they needed her help, but he had hoped they would care about her enough not to ask that of her. Clarke had never give into his request, something he was now grateful for.

Clan leaders would see her as a threat, not only the ice nation. The sky people had made a great deal of enemies since they had fallen and unfortunately had a shortage of friends. Not only that, but the trip alone was hazardous. Three months under the best of circumstances was bad. Pregnant and exhausted were far from idle. By doing this Clarke's life would be in danger, the life of their child would be in danger. Her life had not been under such a threat for many years. The memory made Lincoln's hand drift to the angry scar that ran down his wife's neck as he pondered what had just been said. The others, sans Octavia, watched the motion with interest. Clarke stilled his hand and looked up at him, telling him with her eyes that she was okay, she was alive. They would deal with this together. He smiled softly at her, Clarke returning it.

He already knew Clarke felt obligated to go. But he also knew she didn't want to. She was afraid. For the baby, for her people, for himself and Wells. The world was edging its way back onto her shoulders and there was nothing he could do except help bare the weight this time.

He turned to Bellamy again. No one had spoken for minutes allowing him time to think, which he was thankful for. "We will leave tomorrow morning. It'll take us five months to get there." Clarke grasped the hand that he had placed on her shoulder and squeezed it. He could feel some of the tension ease from her body.

"It'll only take us three months," Monty said confused.

Lincoln shook his head. "Not with a pregnant woman. If Clarke and the baby are to survive the trip we will need to take our time. And Wells will slow us down as well." Now Clarke gripped his hand in concern but didn't question him.

He knew she was weighing their options. If they left him here they would be separated and distracted towards his wellbeing. Bringing him was a danger and possibly a liability but they would be together. Able to better protect him and watch over him. Not to mention Wells would not want to be separated from his parents.

"Is that wise," Indra asked from behind him.

Lincoln answered honestly, "Maybe not, but we will not be parted.."

"Five months is cutting it pretty close, Linc," the familiar nickname falling from Bellamy's lips unconsciously.

"It will be close but we should make it in time. I would suggest sending someone ahead to notify them of our coming." It was not Lincoln's place to give orders, although, he desperately wanted to. This journey involved the welfare of his family and he felt he should be in charge of the situation, but he was not.

"I'll go," Octavia volunteered from the corner. Lincoln held back the sigh of relief that wanted to escape.

"O," Bellamy said concerned.

"That may not be wise, Octavia," Indra spoke. "You may look and act the part of the grounder but you are still _skaikru_ , which is more dangerous to be then normal right now."

Lincoln had to acknowledge the truth in her words. At first glance Octavia would be taken for a grounder, but an experienced warrior could tell the difference almost immediately. It was in how she held herself, the way her eyes scanned faces first and hands second, minute details.

For the same reason Monty and Bellamy were excluded, leaving Indra and the boy.

"What about the boy," Lincoln questioned.

The boy took offense, "The boy is named Aden and he his _seken_ to the commander."

Lincoln held up the hand that wasn't entwined with Clarke's in a placating manner.

"We better not send him. He's capable but he's still young," Bellamy answered in a very diplomatic way but then ruined it by adding. "Besides if anything happens to him Lexa will have our balls."

He sighed in frustration, "That may be but I would prefer not sending Indra, we may have need of her blade in case we encounter any trouble or if any spies have followed you."

"We were careful," Octavia snarked.

"But not invisible," Indra reproached. "We came through many villages and out of necessity had to make our quest known. It is no secret we have been looking for _Wanheda._ "

Clarke tensed at the name. There was a time that that title had hounded their existence. In recent years, however, they had thought the title had passed, knowing that it would never be completely forgotten.

"Even more reason for you to stay," Clarke spoke.

"You have a suggestion?" Lincoln could tell from the sound of her voice.

"Yes," she said it like she wished she didn't. "Cyril."

He frowned. Cyril was the brother of Clarke's favorite patient, Ember. He had traveled to Tondc with his mother and father before so he knew the way, and he was also an experienced tracker. It helped that the family was also indebted to Clarke for all she had done for the girl.

Lincoln nodded his assent. "He'll do. We will have to school him on who to trust though." Already knowing that he would not be able to trust anyone but the commander herself or Abby and Marcus Kane. Anyone else might be a spy or an enemy.

"Can we trust this Cyril?" Bellamy questioned.

"His family owes Clarke a debt. Yes."

"So, it's settled," Monty said.

"Yes. I will ask him when I go to retrieve Bray."

"Bray," he heard several voices inquire including Clarke's.

He only answered Clarke when he spoke, even though everyone could hear him. "Yes. We will need her help to deliver the baby." Clarke's forehead creased in concerned. "Samuel can manage the clinic."

"I know. It's just.." she trailed off but he understood. She was worried about putting the young woman in danger. "I will protect her. She will most likely demand to come when she finds out anyway." Many in the village, especially her two apprentices, were fiercely protective of his family, especially Clarke in her condition. He was glade Wells had inherited his mother's innate ability to garner loyalty.

"Find out?" Clarke questioned. She thought her impending flight would remain a secret. He shook his head at her foolishness.

"Clarke, who was here when they showed up?"

He saw the confusion clear from her eyes. In her worry Clarke must have forgotten that Ember, although much beloved, was the biggest gossip in the village. It was how Lincoln had known to come home instead of getting the sweet bread Clarke craved.

He had been almost at the market when he was stopped by Ember's worried mother. She had told him that Ember had been at their home with Clarke when visitors she had never seen before came to the door. She had said some of them were dressed differently and carried strange weapons. She had sent Cyril into the forest to find him. Again, luckily Lincoln had returned early.

Before he had run off he had assured her everything was fine. He did not want the whole village to get involved. He knew most had some idea of who Clarke had been before they had come to live here, but knowing it without a doubt was completely different.

Octavia made a motion towards the door. Lincoln joined her to identify the possible threat she had seen. As if he had been summoned he saw Cyril jogging up the path to their home. He gestured to Octavia to sheath her weapon, which she did reluctantly. When the boy was close he opened the door and gestured him in closing it quickly behind him. He froze when he saw their visitors.

He was slightly out of breath, probably having run all the way back to the village when he found Lincoln already gone.

" _Fisa,"_ inclining his head towards Clarke. He had never known the young man to call Clarke by her actual name.

"Cyril," she replied. "Would you like something to drink?" noticing too how out of breath he was. He nodded his acceptance.

Clarke moved to get up but couldn't manage to lift herself out of the chair, that was set at a deep angle. Lincoln rushed over to help her up as Bellamy laughed at her, not being able to help himself.

Clarke picked up one of Wells' small wooden toys, that he had carved himself, off a nearby table and threw it at him, hitting him square in the chest. It did nothing to stop his laughter. "Shut up, Bellamy!" Her annoyance turning into a good-humored smile at his giddiness.

Lincoln couldn't help but smile himself. This is what their reunion should have been.

"So, Ember's not full of shit," Cyril said still standing wide eyed in the middle of the room.

Clarke returned with a glass for him and scolded him, "Don't talk about your sister like that."

A unabashed smile covered his face as he took the water thankfully.

Instead of returning to her seat she joined Lincoln at his side facing the young man.

"Clarke, Wells and I will be setting off tomorrow," Cyril's eyes studied Lincoln knowing that things were not as easy as he was making them appear. "We have a favor to ask of you?"

Cyril nodded showing that he was willing to listen before he agreed to anything.

Clarke continued for Lincoln. "We will be traveling to Tondc," again Cyril's eyes showed apprehension, but he did not interrupt. "Because of my condition it will take longer than usual and people are waiting on us. If you would be willing, we would like you to travel ahead of us and inform those parties that we are on our way, but that it will take some time."

Cyril studied them and then turned his eyes to their guests doing the same. His hands were perched on his hips and his feet were set wide apart in a strong stance ready for anything. His eyes lingered on Bellamy and Monty, seeing them for what they were.

His eyes focused on Lincoln as they flicked to the back of the house. Lincoln nodded him and proceeded him out the back door giving the others a steadying look.

He turned to the younger man, his arms folded and his face skeptical. He said nothing and simply waited for Lincoln to speak.

"They are not threatening us and they are not forcing us to go," a dark smile formed on Lincoln's face at the mere idea that they could force them to do anything. He would tear them down in an instant, old friends or not.

Cyril nodded, taking Lincoln's words as truth. "It's dangerous," he wasn't asking. "Especially with Clarke so far along."

"Yes, but I will be asking Bray to come as well and it must be done."

"Okay," he agreed as he extended his arm towards Lincoln. They grasped each other's forearms and looked each other in the eye, confirming the agreement.

They returned inside. The room was tense, like any sudden movement would set its inhabitants off. Lincoln dipped his head letting them know everything was okay.

Cyril took the seat Clarke had vacated and asked, "Where will I be going?"

Bellamy answered, "You've heard of Arcadia?" Cyril nodded. "You'll be going there. Will write a letter and seal it. We need you to deliver it to one or both of our leaders, Abby Griffin or Marcus Kane. It will guarantee your safe passage and lodging while you are there. Do you know the way?"

"I do," Lincoln knew his parents had taken him near the area when they had traveled to Tondc.

"You should know, other's may try to stop you," Clarke said concern flooding her voice.

"Who?"

Bellamy shrugged, "Ice nation mainly, but I wouldn't limit possible threats to just them. You'll have to be careful with who you trust."

"Always am," he responded easily. Getting up abruptly, "I need to return home and prepare. I will leave with you tomorrow and then head my own way. I will only inform my parents." Bellamy looked ready to interrupt and Octavia's relaxed stance dissolved when Cyril raised a hand to quiet them. "My mother already knows something is wrong. I will inform them this must be kept quiet," he eyed Clarke and Lincoln knowingly. "Best no one knows about this. I will inform Bray as well. She will also know to keep silent."

Lincoln grasped his arm once more in gratitude and watched the young man return home at a deliberate pace.

"Are you sure you can trust him," Indra intoned behind him.

"I am not worried about Cyril," his eyes shifted to Tybe's home. Lincoln could make out the shadow of the man watching his own home.

"Your neighbor? Do you think he'll try anything?" Bellamy asked getting up and looking over his should towards the man in question.

"I do not know. He has no love for the sky people."

"As long as we're gone by tomorrow we should be fine," Clarke reasoned. "He rarely leaves the house and if he sees you have no intention of staying I don't see a problem. Talynn will keep him in line for a time." Lincoln grunted in agreement.

Neither he nor Clarke were mentioning the fact that they would most likely not be able to return to the village that had become their home. Tybe may not make trouble presently but when it was discovered they had left he would begin to voice his suspicions. Others would surely listen and remember the rumors of _wanheda._ They may have many friends here but that can easily change, loyalties can be fickle they had learned that the hard way. The goodwill they had developed over the years through hard work would most likely wane when people realized the danger they had been unknowingly exposed to by housing a fugitive.

He could tell Clarke was compartmentalizing those thoughts until she could allow herself to think them through. Her clinic was here, her patients, all her memories of Atha were here, Wells was born here, said his first words, had his first steps in this very house. Lincoln had built this home himself, almost everything inside made by his own hands. This was their home.

But it would not be the first time either of them had to abandon their homes. They survived it before they would survive it again. Together.

…..

Clarke sat with Lincoln's armed wrapped around her as they basked in warmth of the giant bonfire. Allowing themselves the moment to forget about all that awaited them at their home.

Lincoln and Clarke had to make an appearance at the celebration. Ember and Cyril's family, along with Bray, would keep quiet about what they knew but their absence would have surely been noticed.

They had made the obligatory rounds and were now free to recluse themselves to each other's company as they often did. They had left the others at their home. She knew they must be going stir crazy but they couldn't risk them being seen. They had offered to disappear into the surrounding woods and meet them tomorrow but Lincoln was afraid they would still be discovered or seen.

Clarke had stood by when Ember gifted her sister her painting. Her sister had been thrilled with it. It made her feel powerful and loved that her sister would put in such hard work for a gift her. The sisters had embraced and Clarke had departed giving the family some time alone.

Now, Clarke smiled sadly as she watched Wells running around with the other children of the village. This had been the only home he had ever known. They hadn't told him they would be leaving, and most likely not coming back. That could wait until tomorrow. But for all intents and purposes this was a goodbye.

Lincoln held her tighter sensing her mood had turned melancholy. They talked quietly to one another.

"He will adapt. He is strong, like his mother."

"And his father. I know he'll be fine. I'll probably miss this place more than him."

This is where they had become a family, where she and Lincoln had fallen in love.

They had been traveling together for some time before they had stopped here. It had been meant to be temporary, but Clarke could see that Lincoln had felt a sense of peace, if not possibility here. She had seen the possibility but was not going to stay. She was not going to force Lincoln to come with her though.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. She was going to leave when he was away on a hunting trip and continue searching. For what she didn't know. It was not that Clarke did not want him to come with her. She had become very reliant on him, she needed him in ways that she had never needed anyone before, and that had frightened her. That had not been enough to leave him, however. No, what had made her decision was the fact that she had still seen herself as a curse.

Lincoln's life had been threatened on their travels because of her. She had dreaded the day where she would finally cost him his life. But, as if he had known what she had planned. For the first six months, he barely left her side.

At the time, they had not been in love. Their relationship had grown so much since they had met almost ten years ago. They had been allies, companions, confidants. But it was only when they had left everything they had known, did they become friends. Having to learn to trust each other in all aspects changed them. And because of that change Lincoln was afraid of losing her, losing that stability, that one comfort. She was afraid of losing it too, but would have done it to protect him. And because a bigger part of her believed she didn't deserve it, deserved him. It was Atha who had convinced her to stay and give a relationship with Lincoln a chance. She knew Clarke had things to make up for and she offered her that chance through the clinic. Saying that she would never be able to restore the lives she had taken but she could try by healing one life at a time. Atha had also said that Lincoln was a big boy and could decide for himself what risks he was willing to take.

After that, falling in love with Lincoln had been easy. Soon after she had become pregnant with Wells and her past, although never forgotten, began to take a backseat to the present.

Clarke felt, rather than heard, Lincoln groan as Wells jumped onto his back.

"Are you having fun, _yongon,"_ he asked their son softly.

"Yes!" he practically screamed in his father's ear. Clarke laughed, feeling Lincoln wince at the volume.

Extricating herself from her husband's arms she turned to look at her son, eyebrow cocked. "Not getting into trouble, are we?"

Her son cackled and threw himself at her. Lincoln caught him around the middle before he could barrel into her with too much force and slowed his impact. Clarke's arms captured him naturally nevertheless.

"No trouble, mama," she looked down at her son skeptically, knowing him far too well to believe him.

Just as she was about to question her son further she heard a shriek in the distance. Everyone who had heard turned their heads towards the woman.

Marigold, an older woman of the village, was yelling in annoyance. "Ungrateful _yongons!_ Steal my treats! This is the last time I cook anything!"

Wells burrowed further into her arms, hiding himself as Marigold continued her indignant rampage. For every important event the village held, Marigold would work days before to make chocolate chip cookies. It was almost impossible to do but she wanted to make the events memorable. They would serve them last before the children were sent off to bed and most of the adults continued to participate in the festivities. Unfortunately, the more mischievous children of the village had the habit of stealing and gorging themselves on the treats before they could be distributed to all. And each time Marigold would vow never to make them again only to be persuaded to do so for the next feast.

Clarke looked down at her son, as Marigold chased after some of the culprits with a wooden spoon. She now noticed the bits of smeared chocolate and cookie crumbs at the corner of her son's mouth. Lincoln saw it as well and laughed quietly behind his back as Clarke frowned down at him.

"That was not a nice thing to do. You know how hard Marigold works on those treats for everyone," Clarke scolded.

"I didn't take them, the others just gave some to me," her son reasoned.

"So, you just benefited from the bad actions of others," Lincoln quietly questioned.

Wells eyes widened, knowing that he was being trapped but wasn't sure what to do about it. "Yes," he answered unsurely.

"That makes you just as guilty as them," Lincoln answered solemnly. The parents both knew no real harm had been done but like all parents they wanted to instill good behavior into their child.

Wells' eyes lowered in shame. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You didn't steal the cookies from us," Clarke told him.

Wells looked up then finding Marigold with his eyes. She had calmed down but was still clearly angry. "I'll apologize to Marigold tomorrow. I'll even draw her a picture so she knows how sorry I really am."

Clarke's throat closed up and she had to fight back tears knowing that he would never get the chance to do either. Clarke's eyes met Lincoln's own solemn gaze above his head. Clarke swallowed down the ache, kissing her son's head. "I think that would be wonderful. Marigold, would like that very much."

Wells smiled up at his parents then.

Lincoln patted his back and said, "Come, it is late. It's time for us to go home."

"No," Wells began to protest. "Can't we stay a little longer? I'm not even tired." The last part of his statement was made far less believable, since it had been eaten up by a very large yawn.

Smiling softly, "That may be, _yongon._ But the baby is very tired and making your mother tired."

Wells turned to her as if checking the validity of his father's words and Clarke nodded in agreement.

"Okay," he relented easily.

Lincoln scooped him up and offered Clarke a hand as well. When she was on her feet, he pulled her into his side, putting his arm around her he kissed the top of her head.

As they left they waved goodnight to many of their friends. Bray caught her eye and the two women nodded to each other conspiratorially.

Clarke soaked up these last few minutes of peace she had with her family, praying that they would not be their last.


	5. Chapter 5

Monty and Aden had no trouble in taking Wells' room to sleep in. The others had spread out across the main rooms floor. Indra taking the couch as Bellamy and Octavia fought over floor space.

As always Clarke woke up far too early for her liking. Thankfully, even with all the worries of the previous day, she had slept much more peacefully knowing her family was safely within her grasp. When her eyes opened they were met with Lincoln's piercing gaze.

Wells was nestled between them still fast asleep. They stared longingly into each other's eyes. He reached over and ran his fingers up her cheek. Her eyes had closed at the touch and when they opened again Lincoln's pupils were dilated. A flush warmed Clarke's cheeks as Lincoln carefully shifted Wells over his body and placed him behind him, still safely on the bed.

Lincoln then slid over until he was flush against her. He softly pushed Clarke back until she was lying on her back. Settling his leg between her own, he placed his hand on her hip, rubbing the bare skin he found there with his calloused thumb. He nuzzled into her neck kissing and biting gently.

Clarke let out a quiet sigh of appreciation keeping herself as silent as possible.

Her arms wrapped around her husband, hands sliding under his shirt to feel the bare skin of his back. She ran her fingers across the scars that littered it. Clarke had long ago memorized each one. But they still took her breath away knowing how close each one meant she had been to losing him. Losing him before they even had a desire to want this.

Clarke bucked slightly against his leg feeling a warmth settle between her thighs.

They both knew they could not take this as far as they would like. As their son slept next to them, and their living room was filled with guests, one of them being her husband's ex. But they had not gotten the chance for a proper reunion and weren't sure when they would be given the opportunity.

Lincoln's lips wandered up from her neck capturing her own. They were so warm and inviting but slightly chapped. She liked how they felt rubbing against her own. The way his month-long beard felt against her smooth skin. But were his body was rough and hard from work and muscle, his hands were gentle. But they could be rough too. Clarke bucked again, remembering the times they had been rough and demanding. If she counted correctly one of those times had led to her current condition.

Lincoln smiled against her lips sensing what she was recalling.

Her one hand slipped from underneath his shirt and traveled up towards his shaved head. Her nails scraped lightly down it. She was rewarded with a shiver from him.

He moaned when Clarke ran her tongue across his teeth. She fought back her own, fearing it would be too loud, when he moved his hand up to squeeze her oversensitive breast, his nail running across her erect nipple.

Clarke was just about to reach for something she shouldn't when Lincoln stilled. With the sixth-sense that all parents had they quickly moderated their positions to something less scarring. And Clarke watched as Wells' head appeared over Lincoln's shoulder and he climbed over his father's back and onto her. He rested his head against her belly and gave out a great yawn closing his eyes once more. Clarke laughed, the movement shaking her son. As Lincoln smiled lovingly at them.

The moment was shattered when they heard a sharp cry of "Octavia!" come from Bellamy in the next room.

Any other time it would have made Clarke laugh, but now it brought reality down on them.

Lincoln shoved his face into Clarke's neck and groaned, his son, copying him, did so to the other side. She laughed and they each kissed a cheek. Lincoln rose from the bed then as Wells flipped over to the warm spot his father had just abandoned.

Clarke rolled herself over and sat on the edge of the bed watching her husband quickly change his clothes. The heat that Lincoln had inspired in her moments before had not yet dissipated, so when he took off his shirt revealing his firmly toned body Clarke had to fight back another moan biting her lip to do so. Lincoln noticed her frustration and smiled cockily at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him petulantly and got herself up as well. He gave her one last kiss before he scooped Wells up to take him to get ready for their journey.

When she was alone, she realized how much she had come to resent the quiet. Even the noise the others made stumbling around the house was a welcome alternative to what she had lived with the month they had been gone.

It did not take her long to get ready and her things were already packed. Lincoln had packed after they had made their final decision, they just needed to collect a few of Wells' things and they would be all set.

Clarke left the room and found a groggy Bellamy sitting at her kitchen table. She could just make out Indra standing outside at the back of the house. Aden was sitting in the chair his head tipped back and eyes closed. Monty came out of Wells' room stretching exaggeratedly. Octavia was still sprawled across the floor asleep.

Clarke went through the cabinets pulling out some bread, butter and jelly for her gets to munch on. "She still sleeps like the dead?" She questioned the slightly more awake Blake.

"Yep," he answered his voice hoarse with sleep. "Indra hates it. Says a warrior needs to be prepared for an attack at any moment, especially when they are sleeping." He snorted and took the food and water Clarke offered gratefully. "I could've told her that was a losing battle."

Monty joined Bellamy at the table as Clarke drifted back down the small hallway that led off to Wells' room.

She could hear Lincoln talking to her son and stopped to listen.

"Why do we have to go?" Wells asked quietly.

Lincoln replied gently, "Your mother's family needs her and they are also very eager to meet you and the new baby."

"When will we be back?"

"I do not know," neither one of them would ever lie to him. They might refrain from telling him things until he was ready, but they would not lie. "The journey there will take many months and I do not know how long we will have to stay there."

"Will I have friends there?"

She could hear Lincoln's smile when he answered, "I have no doubt that you will have friends there. Your mother tells me that you are very lovable although I do not see it."

At her son's indignant "Daddy!" Clarke entered the room.

"Uh-oh what did you father do now?" She knew Lincoln had known she was listening, but luckily Wells wasn't that observant yet.

"He said- he said," he stuttered, his six-year-old mind trying to accurately explain why he was insulted.

Lincoln saved him the struggle, "I merely questioned why you think he is so lovable. He is very tiny, his breath smells, and he never picks up his toys. I just don't understand." He lowered his head in mock disappointment.

Her son's pout almost made her burst out laughing but she continued to play the game that her husband had started.

"He is also very smart," her son preened with the compliment. "And very sweet," he leaned over and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek to emphasize her point. "He is also very strong and always shares his treats with his mother."

Lincoln looked like he was thinking and studied his son. Wells stood arms crossed waiting for his father's decision.

"I guess you are right," Lincoln stated. "It is also good that he is very ticklish." Before he could process his father's words, Lincoln had him on his back and was tickling him mercilessly as he squealed with glee.

Clarke laughed at them as she folded some of Wells' things that they were planning on taking. After a minute Lincoln relented and lied next to his son who was trying to catch his breath with a large smile on his face.

Lincoln leaned over and whispered in his ear, just loud enough for Clarke to hear, "I will always be proud of you. I will always love you. No matter what."

Wells turned to him, smile still in place and gave him a sloppy kiss that practically enveloped his nose. Lincoln took it in stride though.

They got up and headed back into the main room. The first thing Wells did was jump into Bellamy's lap. He had taken a liking to Bellamy the moment his parents had informed him that he was a friend and could be trusted. Bellamy likewise took to the young boy instantly. Even the other Blake seemed to be charmed by him. Clarke was happy that any ill will she held against his parents did not extend to their son.

Wells immediately began questioning Bellamy about Caesar and his reign. A story he had begun the day before after his nap. Bellamy was all too pleased someone wanted a history lesson. Saying he had not had the chance to share his knowledge since Octavia had learned to talk and refused to listen to anything but princess stories. She had rolled her eyes at this statement but a smile played on her mouth at the image of her brother and the young boy.

As soon as she set a plate of food down in front of her son, Indra entered with Cyril and a hesitant Bray.

Clarke pulled her to the side. "Are you sure about this?" she asked her.

She nodded slowly but decidedly, "You have done much for me, I think it time to return the favor. Besides, I have never been anywhere, seeing Tondc would be exciting."

The younger healer had turned from her then. Clarke frowned. She herself had wanted adventure when she was young, like most do. When she finally got it, she realized adventure came at a cost. She hoped it wouldn't cost Bray too much.

She met Lincoln's eyes and nodded. It was time to leave.

…

Cyril had pulled away from them almost within the first hour they had set off. It seems everyone had seriously overestimated the speed at which an eight-month pregnant woman could move at. Everyone except her husband that is. He was constantly telling Clarke to slow down and not overtax herself.

Bellamy, like the others, were frustrated with the pace but would never dream of rushing her. If Clarke's glare wasn't enough to tell them that would be a horrible idea, then Lincoln's growl would be.

Octavia had pulled ahead to scout. One look at the couple's entwined hands was enough to tell her that someone was desperately needed to pave their way and she humbly volunteered.

He was impressed with Wells, he probably shouldn't be knowing who his parents are. He kept a good pace and was sure footed in the forest. He chatted but was not ignorant to his surroundings, pointing out some of the wild life that Bellamy missed. He was a good kid, funny, talkative, and best of all interested in history. He was actually surprised Lincoln had fathered such a chatty child. He had voiced his surprise to earn a laugh from Clarke and a playful glare at her from Lincoln.

They had been traveling for some time, Octavia out somewhere in front of them, Indra leading the group and Bellamy bringing up the rear.

Bray was standing with Aden questioning him about everything Tondc. At first the boy had been suspicious, being trained to expect spies wanting to pump him for information, but he quickly determined that it was genuine interest driving her. He had heard him speak more now than he had heard on the entire trip combined. It wasn't that he was shy, Bellamy thought he just didn't entirely trust his companions, which was fine, because they didn't entirely trust him either. Aden was also extremely self-assured, to the point of being cocky. That often grated on him, O had snickered at him when he mentioned it to her saying, "It must be horrible to have to deal with a cocky asshole, who thinks he's always right."

He had noticed the young warrior's eyes settle on Clarke more than once, lingering for longer than comfortable. He hadn't been the only one to notice. Lincoln had slowed their steps until the two younger grounders were forced to pass them. Linc being sure to keep the possible threat in front of him, where he could see him and where Aden couldn't eye his wife.

Bellamy wasn't sure what his interest in Clarke was. He knew Clarke had an allure about her, he would admit to being captured by it from time to time himself. But he wasn't sure if that was it for the young grounder. It was possible, that he could simply be awed with finally meeting the fabled _wanheda_. Aden had probably heard the stories for years, from the commander herself most likely. He was meeting a hero the likes of Hercules and Perseus.

Or it could be that Lexa's crush had imprinted on the young nightblood. In which case, Aden would have to be extremely careful around Lincoln. Bellamy shook his head. Right now, it wasn't an issue so he wouldn't make it one.

Bellamy pulled up closer to Lincoln and Clarke and settled next to Monty who had been walking alongside Clarke. The two had chatted trying to catch up but stopped when they realized it caused Clarke to run out of breath more often.

Bellamy looked up ahead and watched as Wells jumped from a small boulder and bump into Indra. The hardened warrior was pretending to be annoyed with the young boy's antics but Bellamy knew she was really a softy and secretly enraptured with him.

"I have to ask," Clarke looked at him inquiringly. "Wells?"

He saw the flicker of pain in her eyes but it was overshadowed by her brilliant smile. "My way of giving Wells a second chance at life. The first one being cut short."

A somber air overcame the group remembering the young man who they had lost. Bellamy had not had the chance to make amends with Jaha Jr. but looking back now he realized that Wells would have been a good ally, maybe even a friend. But he had been so far up his own ass at the time that he missed the chance.

"You were okay with the name, Lincoln?" Monty asked him.

He nodded, taking time to weigh his words like he always did. "I had watched your camp for some time," he admitted softly. They had known about Lincoln's task to scout out their original camp. It was still uncomfortable to hear about though. "I had seen the young man, Wells, try to bring you together. Try to help." His eyes flicked to Bellamy as a sort of reproach, for being the one tearing them apart at the time. "I want my son to be a good man. His namesake was a good man. I can only hope he will guide him in that."

It was unfortunate that Wells' death and what happened with Charlotte after had been what inspired Bellamy to become the leader that he should have been trying to be the moment they hit the ground.

The four old friends walked in a bittersweet mood as they remembered the Wells they lost while the Wells that had been given to them run and jump and laugh.

Bellamy turned to Clarke after a while. Her eyes were glazed over and far off.

"What are you thinking about?" Bellamy questioned.

She looked at him but didn't answer. Just turned her head up looking up into the canopy above them lost in memories.


	6. Chapter 6

So this chapter is a flashback one from Clarke's point of view.  
_

Chapter 6

Clarke had traveled for three days before she stood outside of her destination. She had never thought surviving on her own would be easy, she found that she had been right. Foraging, hunting, preparing camp, and finding clean water all by herself was extremely difficult. Just surviving was exhausting.

One thing she had learned quickly was that a fire at night often attracted predators. And without anyone to alternate taking watch with she unfortunately had to learn to do without one at night. The nights were cold, but the weather was still warm enough that she wouldn't freeze to death. She would have to make alternative plans for winter, though. Which was fast approaching.

But that was a problem for tomorrow, today she had bodies to burn.

The entrance to Mount Weather loomed before her. The door had been left ajar in everyone's haste to depart.

She thought she had prepared herself for returning to the mount. She realized now she wasn't even close to ready, not at all.

So, she procrastinated without really procrastinating. She had things to prepare outside before she absolutely had to enter, so that's what she did.

Clarke glanced around looking for a tool to suit her needs. The grounder army had left a lot behind when they retreated. Her eyes landed on a partially concealed machete. She picked up the handle, shaking the dirt from the blade and was pleased to discover that it was well sharpened. Not that she really thought a grounder warrior would go into battle with a dull blade.

Tool in hand she began to chop. Any tree that was small enough, any branch that was low enough, she cut. It took all day, only stopping once for a quick lunch.

The next day she dug. Using a discarded shield, she dug as big a ditch as she could manage. It wasn't large enough, not nearly but it was a start.

Tomorrow she would actually have to enter Mount Weather and begin retrieving the bodies.

…..

Tomorrow came faster than Clarke had thought possible. She awoke before the sun and set some traps, ate some breakfast, but she had delayed her task for as long as she could.

Looking up at the mount resolutely she tied a cloth over her nose and mouth, preparing for the onslaught of smell from decomposition. She stepped into the fortress, her heavy boots echoing loudly throughout the empty complex. The quiet was unnatural. Wrong. To Clarke it felt like a tomb, which she guessed it was.

Clarke turned the first corner but stopped when she saw the first body lying on the ground not two feet from her. They had been running, from what she knew, but to where she could not guess. There was no safety for them, no hope for survival. Maybe it was just the human condition to flee in the face of death.

She herself had been faced with such overwhelming odds before, but she had always been able to find a way out. Through luck or sheer force of will was the opinion of the individual.

She crouched down next to the body studying the young man for a moment. Death had been quick, but far from painless. His face was contorted in agony.

Clarke stood and headed down the hallway past the cafeteria to where she remembered the medical rooms had been located. She saw more and more bodies as she walked through, not stopping this time. When she reached her destination, she easily found what she needed. She rolled the gurney out the door this time stopping when she found a body. There were three levels to the facility. The bottom one being where the hundred and grounders had been held, only a few bodies would be down there, but the above floor would be the difficult one. She'd have to carry the bodies down the stairwell and then to the gurney. The electricity was spotty due to the explosions they had set off and she wasn't too thrilled with the possibility of getting stuck in the elevator. It would be hard, but she would do it. She had to.

And that's what she did. From morning until night, she placed the bodies on the gurney and then carried and dragged them over to their grave. She didn't stop. It allowed her to avoid any conscious thought of what she was doing and letting herself simply be lost in the motion of it all.

It took her nearly a week to do it but slowly she had built her funeral pyre. She had scoured the entire complex, removing all the bodies she could find. When she finished it was already late into the night, but she continued feeling the anticipation of completion. She stacked the wood around the bodies. She knew they were stacked too high, too many on top of one another and she wished she had the material to wrap the bodies in respectfully but she didn't. Just one more slight against them.

The only supply from Mount Weather that she had allowed herself to use was gas. She had filled some portable tanks with it and now used it to dose the bodies. It took some time but the fire caught and built up slowly. When it reached its peak the heart overwhelmed her, burning so bright that she was forced to avert her eyes.

Clarke wasn't naïve. Mount Weather's population was not filled with innocent brave Maya's. Some of them were monsters, creating and carrying out cruel experiments. They had victimized an entire people just to save themselves.

But hadn't she done the same? No. What she did had been worse. She exterminated an entire people to save her own. It was easy to declare someone else the monster, it was much harder to accept the fact that you were one as well.

So, no they weren't all innocent, but Clarke was wise enough to realize that this wasn't so much about the lives she had taken but about the fact that she had taken them. If she had been able to do it and just move on with her life that would have been worse, she would have become Cage Wallace.

And now after days of none stop working, as the bodies burned before her she allowed the exhaustion to take over and she collapsed where she stood.

…

Clarke was warm, warmer than she had been in a long time. She was so comfortable that she knew something was wrong.

What did it say about her life that comfort meant something bad? She sat straight up throwing off the furs she was wrapped in. _Furs_?

She looked around, eyes wide and still tired. The forest was quiet, the morning just bringing the stirring of rising birds. She sighed heavily and shrugged the rest of the way out of her warm cocoon. Walking over to her campfire she found cooked meat set in a roughly hewn bowl for her. She picked it up and smelled it just to be safe. Feeling that it was safe she began to eat. Whoever had left it did not seem to mean her harm and she was not about to complain about the free food.

Clarke had not planned on staying after she had finished putting the bodies to rest but she realized she couldn't leave just yet.

The facility had left behind dangerous information. Information on the harvest project, the Cerberus experiment, and weapons like the fog gas. These were things that she couldn't let get out. She might have rejected leadership but she wasn't negligent. She loved her people but she knew the influence information held over others. Clarke knew eventually her people would return here. There were too many resources left behind and eventually someone would realize that. And when they did return she couldn't risk them finding this information and attempting to use it. Because they would.

So, she destroyed it. Magnets, fire, whatever. She took it all apart. The rest of Mount Weather would stand, but none of the information they had gathered would ever see the light of day again.

…

Three days later, Clarke was still sitting in her little camp outside Mount Weather. Now that she had the option of going anywhere she didn't know where to go. She kept telling herself tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd find a new way to live. Tomorrow.

She was warming her hands on the fire that she would have to dowse soon when the breaking of branches and crunching leaves caught her attention. She had a suspicion of who it was and if she was right the noise was intentional, so as not to startle her. She glanced at her visitor as he took a seat beside her. Even sitting three feet away she could feel the heat coming off his body.

He tossed two dead squirrels onto the ground between them. "You didn't eat today." He said in his quiet gruff voice.

Staring at the dancing flames instead of him she replied, "I know."

He reached into his boot and pulled a knife and began skinning and cleaning the squirrels. When he was finished he placed a flat rock into the fire and placed the meat on it to cook.

They continued to sit in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, but strange. They had never really spent time together before, they had always had a buffer before. Now it seemed silence was their buffer.

When the meat was done, he carefully cut it and placed it in the bowls he had left previously, handing one to her. Her stomach growled at the smell. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.

She could feel his disapproval without him having to utter a single word. She bristled at it. Yes, she had been lax in taking care of herself lately but she was not a child and did not appreciate the silent reproach.

She nibbled daintily on her food, refusing to give into her ravenous need. Half way through she heard him give a frustrated exhale and finally she turned to meet Lincoln's black eyes.

Instead of seeing the disappointment or annoyance she had assumed was there she only found concern.

His eyes examined her. She could imagine what he saw. Unkempt hair, skin matted with dirt and blood, sallow cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, and dry cracked lips. She could imagine it because that's what she saw when she looked at him.

Shame flooded her instantly. If anyone had suffered it had been Lincoln. He had left his people, the only home he had ever known all for Octavia and her people. When he tried to broker peace, he was still treated as a traitor, even the sky people did not fully accept him because he was a grounder. Despite all that he had done for them. Then he had been captured and tortured, turned into a reaper. She could not imagine the horrors he had suffered, had committed as one. He was a good man who had fallen in love with the wrong woman and now he was a man without a people, without a home. And here he was, staring at _her_ with worry.

When she opened her mouth, it had been to let out a bark of laughter but it turned into a sob. And then she was crying. Great choking sobs that raked her entire body. She tipped forward off her seat and onto her knees. She curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her torso and folding herself in half against her folded knees. She wasn't sure what she was trying to do. She just knew she had to make herself as small as possible.

In her hysteria, she could make out the feel of a warm hand grazing up and down her back. She shuffled ungracefully away, but then felt hands at her sides holding her still. She could feel Lincoln lean over her, his chest barely grazing her back. She tried to shake him away but he refused to budge. His left hand grabbed tightly onto her left arm, his right running soft lines up her own right arm. She tried to tell him to get away, that she didn't deserve it, that she didn't want it but the words came out as gut-wrenching shrieks.

Lincoln dipped his head lower to her ear, murmuring comforting words in trigedasleng that she couldn't understand in her distress. He brushed her hair back behind her ears as she began to calm. She took deep halting breaths, the tears falling now out of reflex rather than any deep emotion.

When Clarke felt composed enough she abruptly pushed Lincoln away and retook her seat at the fire. Lincoln did the same, not uttering a word. She wiped her face hastily trying to hide what she considered an embarrassment. She rarely ever lost control like that and when she did she saw it as a personal failing.

She took a few steading breaths before she looked up at the darkened sky.

She turned to Lincoln who was staring at the flames deep in thought. She appreciated that he did not look at her with pity, he simply ignored her breakdown knowing it was exactly what she needed from him.

Clarke quickly scooped up a branch from the fire to use as a torch. Lincoln turned to her pulled out of his revere. "Common, I want to show you something."

She turned and headed back into Mount Weather knowing he would follow. She heard him pause at the entrance but only for a moment trusting her.

Clarke had spent a lot of time in here the last couple weeks. She now knew every twist and turn of the complex like it was the back of her hand, so it didn't take her long to find the room she was looking for.

As they entered she placed the torch in the middle of the room and tilted her head towards a sofa indicating for Lincoln to sit. She turned to the wall and ran her hand against it finding the light switch. She flicked it on, thankful when the lights came on and brought the storage room into sight.

Clarke could see Lincoln glance around clearly confused. She began pulling the hidden paintings from their protective cases, turning them so he could see them. With the first one displayed his fidgeting stopped as he was wholly entranced by the image before him.

Clarke continued to pull out more while he still studied the first. When she had ten on display she stopped and took a seat beside him. Still keeping some physical distance between them.

She could spend a lifetime in here just looking. They both sat stock still, eyes moving slowly from painting to painting.

"Octavia, mentioned once that you liked to draw," Clarke spoke breaking the silence that had lasted for nearly an hour.

She saw him tense as Octavia's name but relaxed when she made no move to continue. Clarke was curious but she would pay him the same respect he had shown her. If he wished to tell her he would.

Clarke hoped he recognized the gesture for what it was, a thank you. For taking care of her, for not pressuring her, and for worrying about her. She found herself unable to speak the words so she decided to show him.

Although, he had relaxed, she feared she had upset him so she offered an olive branch. Clarke pointed to a painting. "That one's my favorite," Lincoln's eyes flitted over to it, studying it meticulously.

It was a landscape of large lush sweeping mountains. The sun above just barely peeked through large storm clouds. This was the earth she had imagined. The earth she never believed she would ever have the chance to see. Staring at it she could feel the wind swarm around her, hear the distant sound of thunder shaking the earth, the smell of precipitation in the air. She had experienced it first hand and it had been terrifying. Terrifying and beautiful. Even with all that had happened here on the ground she did not think she would ever be able to lose her naïve awe of the ground.

Lincoln studied it for a long while before his eyes returned to a painting he had been focusing on more than the others. It was a portrait of a young woman. Her skin was fair and her hair wrapped in blue and white cloth, a large earing dangled from her one visible ear. The girl had a stoic look on her face, not sad but not quite happy either, like she was expectant.

Clarke's eyelids began to grow heavy, the warmth in the room relaxing her sour muscles. Before she knew it, she was asleep. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of floating.

…..

The next day she had woken up alone snuggled into the furs Lincoln had left for her.

After her night with Lincoln she felt it, felt ready. She packed up what she needed and began to walk. Where she didn't care. She'd find her way.

AN: This is before Lincoln left Arcadia for good. He had been drifting away from them as his inner feelings of turmoil grew, but wasn't yet ready to leave. On one of his outings he had found Clarke's trail and looked in on her concerned about her.

This was just a nice bonding moment between the two.

. Here's a link to Clarke's favorite picture. Lincoln's is the girl with the pearl earing. It is pretty famous so I don't think I have to post a link, but if you don't know it it's not hard to find.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

They had been traveling for just under three weeks.

Lincoln was pleased with their progress, but he could tell Clarke was frustrated. She felt like she was slowing everyone down. But Lincoln could not care less. He would keep them at a snail's pass if it ensured a safe end to Clarke's pregnancy. Which was fast approaching.

Bray was concerned about Clarke's blood pressure. The physically taxing journey and the stress of the coalition were raising it too high. Bray had been brewing her a special tea each morning to help lower it. It had worked somewhat, lowering it a bit, but not as much as they would have liked. Bray had told him that if it continued to rise it could lead to premature delivery and excessive bleeding during the birth which may cause Clarke to bleed out and die. He appreciated that the girl's candor. Normally she was very soft spoken and sweet but when she was in healer mode she was not afraid to say what needed to be said. It was a skill Clarke had said could not be taught.

By trying to lower her blood pressure Clarke was stressing herself out even more. She was now worrying about how she was affecting the baby on top of everything else. If she continued on this path Lincoln would have to take action. To do what he wasn't sure, but he would think of something. They would not lose their child. And he would not lose his wife.

The novelty of the trip had worn off on Wells after the first week. Although, he still enjoyed terrorizing his new acquaintances, he missed his friends, his toys, his home. Lincoln was proud at how well his son was putting up with everything though. He wasn't overly hard to get moving in the morning, he rarely complained, and he helped with the things he could. Setting traps, gathering firewood, and getting his mother to slow down and relax. Like he had done an hour ago.

They had been setting up camp for the night and Clarke had insisted on cooking dinner, saying it was the least she could do. After she had placed their cooking pot in the fire Wells had taken up the task of gathering water to boil rather than let her make the few trips it would take to fill it. The problem had arisen when Clarke went to remove the finished product from the flames. She had not the strength or balance to pick it up and had ended up dropping it, it spilled and the boiling stew had almost burned her. Not all of it had spilled out, there had still been more than enough food to go around, but Clarke was upset, and Lincoln was upset because she had almost hurt herself.

She had stormed off frustrated. He had followed her, ignoring a snarky comment from Octavia, but kept his distance knowing physical comfort at the moment would be resented. She had stormed off in her frustration because the pregnancy made her prone to crying when she became upset. Clarke hated crying, especially in front of others. The only time she allowed it was when she was overly happy or when a great tragedy, like Atha's passing, occurred.

He knew that when she was ready she would approach him.

They were just barely illuminated by the distant campfire. Her back was towards him and he could hear her sniffling slightly. Occasionally, she would lift her hand to roughly wipe her noise.

He didn't have to wait long. She turned to him, eyes teary and walked straight into his waiting arms. Lincoln enveloped her lightly in his arms, as she rested her forehead against his shoulder, hiding her face from him.

"How am I supposed to represent them at the conclave if I can't even make dinner," he could barely make out from her muffled voice.

Lincoln couldn't help but laugh, a hearty laugh that only she could pull from within him. Intentional or not. Clarke took offense and leaned away from him, though, not breaking his hold on her. She knocked a fist against his chest. He laughed harder and pulled her face to him giving her a deep kiss despite his laughter. When he pulled away her eyes were a little dazed but he could tell she was still cross with him and upset about what had happened.

"Clarke, do you really think any of the clan leaders concern themselves with things like making dinner," he paused letting her soak in his words. He saw when she begrudgingly accepted what he said.

"That's not the point. If I can't do a simple task how will I be able to handle what is needed of me."

"The same way you always have, my love," his hands still framing her face, her eyes slipped closed, letting his words flow over her. This was not just the pregnancy hormones, he knew. This had been building up since their friends had arrived. Clarke had not had the responsibility of leading in so long she was afraid she would fail. In their village Clarke had taken roles with leadership aspects but it was not the same. "You will be patient," he kissed her forehead, "wise," he kissed her eyelid, "clever," he kissed her other eyelid, "forceful," he kissed her nose, "and most of all strong." Again, he kissed her on the lips. She responded in kind. Her own hands reached up to capture his face as well. Her thumb ran softly up and down the tattoo that ran from just behind his ear to down his neck, while his hands tangled themselves in her hair. Her other hand dipped so that a couple of her fingers rested just under his shirt against his neck.

He shivered at the feel of her cold hands. Where Clarke had often told him, she loved how warm he was. How every time he touched her it was like he was scalding her sending every nerve ending into overdrive. He likewise loved her cold hands, they always sent a shock through him as they ran up his body leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. They exactly what the other needed.

Despite his pep talk, Lincoln knew that her fears weren't completely abated. He could feel it in the way she held him, the way she kissed him. There was a distance there that hadn't been there since they had first started partaking in a sexual relationship. She was trying to distance herself from him just as she had tried to run from him before. She wanted to protect him and Wells. And she thought that meant distancing herself from them. From her enemies, from her responsibilities, from her people. But he also knew she wanted this life with him. She clung to it like it was air. Clarke wanted to be more than _wanheda_. She wanted to be mother, and wife, and _fisa_ , and simply Clarke. As long as that was what she wanted, truly wanted, he would not allow her to run.

Lincoln finally pulled away and hugged Clarke, pulling her back into him so her head settled right under his chin. She grabbed his shirt in her fist, holding onto him as if he would disappear if she didn't.

When they heard a noise, they turned to find Wells approaching them. Lincoln kept his arm around her soldiers as she turned to greet him with a smile, brushing away the last of her unshed tears. He walked up to his mother and hugged her around the leg. His head just being high enough to rest against the top of her thigh.

"Don't worry, mommy. It still tastes good."

Clarke laughed lightly, "Are you sure? I didn't ruin it?"

Wells looked up at her with wide innocent eyes that were a mirror of his mother's and shook his head. "No. Your dinner's always come out good." He thought for a moment and then added, "Except for that one time when you burned the pie and the house got all smoky and smelled funny."

Lincoln and Clarke laughed at the memory. Clarke had been cooking dinner when Lincoln arrived home. Wells was in the yard playing and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with his wife. She had just put the pie in their wood burning oven when he wrapped his arms around her. He moved the hair from the side of her neck and kissed the skin he uncovered. She was flushed from the heat, her pale skin taking on a rosy glow. His right hand went to her hip holding her tightly playing with the flesh that peeked out between her top and her pants. His other hand wandered to her breast only paying it enough attention to give it a firm squeeze before he ran it down her side making her tense in the best way. Lincoln smiled into her neck at the motion. Taking his hand from her hip he captured her jaw and turned her face towards him and kissed her hard. Clarke bite his lip firmly when his hand reached around to her front and splayed across her taut stomach. He pushed against her forcing her back into his firm member. They both groaned, heating his blood as his hand wandered further down, slipping under the edge of her pants and underwear. Just when he was about to reach where he had been aiming for Clarke broke away and yanked on his other hand pulling him towards their room. She only remembered the waiting pie when they smelled the smoke.

Clarke grumbled out, "That was actually your father's fault." Staring accusingly at Lincoln who was unabashed. "He distracted me."

She thought she had said it low enough for only him to hear but Wells had excellent hearing. "What did he do?"

Lincoln could just make out her blush in the dark and Lincoln's smile turned into a smug smirk.

"Nothing," she said too quickly voice husky with the still burning memory as her hungry eyes slipped from his to their son's. Wells looked unsure at both his parents. "If it's not ruined why don't we get some of that dinner," Clarke said eager to change the subject.

In the presence of their son Lincoln had felt Clarke melt into him, the distance she had been trying to create evaporating. He smiled down in wonder at his son.

"Okay," Wells agreed easily grabbing his mother's hand. "Will you tell me a story after."

Clarke hummed her agreement. "What kind do you want tonight?"

"King Arthur!" He exclaimed loudly as they began to walk back to camp.

"And what should I tell you about? How about he got Excalibur?"

"Yeah!"

When they returned to the camp many had already finished with their meal and were simply winding down after a long day of traveling.

Octavia sat sharpening her blade, despite the fact that she had not had reason to use it and it was sharp as ever. She had stopped avoiding them, now satisfying herself with passive-aggressive comments. Lincoln knew they would need to clear the air but now was not the time. He hoped things would keep until they reached Arcadia and had some breathing room.

He truly had not meant to hurt Octavia by leaving, it was something he had had to do. For his own sanity as well as his happiness. But she was not the only one who had been hurt. He had not left without a word or a look back. He had asked her to come with him, to start over with him. It had been what they were planning on doing before everything with the mountain men had occurred. But after she no longer wanted that. He may have left, but she did not follow. He had prayed for months that she would come to him, but she never did. Eventually he had to accept the fact that they could not be together. They were walking different paths.

Lincoln went to the pot next to the fire and spooned out a bowl for Clarke and Wells as they took seats next to Monty and their grounder companions chatting amicably.

After Lincoln got himself a bowl he took a seat next to Bellamy who was sitting silently watching the dancing flames of the fire.

Without looking at him the other man asked, "Everything good?"

Lincoln released a tired sigh. He was trying to hold everything together for Clarke's sake, even though she could tell things were wearing on him. But Bellamy he could be open with. He would listen without trying to internalize Lincoln's problem's as his own or offer up empty advice.

"She is taking on too much. All this stress is not good for her or the baby. I am concerned." He said simply. But looking up now he could see how relaxed she was. With Wells leaning against her, she chatted happily letting her worries fade, if only briefly.

"And telling Clarke to relax is like telling a lion not to attack." Lincoln hummed his acknowledgment. "I'll talk to her."

Lincoln looked at him cynically, privately thinking 'what sway did this man think he had over his wife.'

Bellamy finally glanced at him and smiled, "Relax caveman. I'll talk to her ex-leader to ex-leader. Don't forget we used to run things together. I know what's going through her head better than anyone right now."

Lincoln sighed and looked through the flames towards Clarke just as she glanced at him. Their eyes locked. Her vision filled with love but then he watched as it deteriorated and her brow furrowed.

"Do it soon," was all he said to Bellamy.

...

Whatever Bellamy had said did the trick. Clarke had come to the resolution that she would only focus on the baby and traveling. She would worry about the coalition after the baby was born, compartmentalizing their difficulties until she could deal with them. Lincoln had been skeptical at first, not believing it would be as easy as Clarke was making it out to be. But to his happy surprise Bray had informed them that her blood pressure had gone down slightly and that the headaches she had been experiencing had stopped.

He would have to ask Bellamy what he said to her.

Unfortunately, a new concern had arisen. Indra dropped back to where he had been pulling up the rear to address it.

"We are being followed," she said like she was commenting on the weather.

"Yes," he responded. "Two maybe three."

"I only counted the two."

"The third does not seem to be with the others."

Indra frowned considering.

Lincoln's eyes scanned their surroundings. Their trackers were good, but they were better. He had glanced them about 100 yards off twice, he had them more though. They broke branches and scattered the wildlife causing unnatural disturbances. The singular man was better at concealing himself, he trailed behind them two miles or so. Lincoln had only spotted him the one time. The real defining factor was intuition. He knew they were being followed by the way the hairs stood on the back of his neck, by the way his skin tingled with an unseen presence. Lincoln had been a warrior for many years and he had learned to ever to take gut instinct for granted.

He looked forward towards his own party as Clarke glanced back to him. She had sensed the presence as well. He nodded towards her letting her know he was aware of the situation and was handling it. Her gaze only wavered when Wells caught her attention pointing up into the trees as two fighting squirrels. Clarke laughed at whatever he had commented. Subtly she pulled on his hand that had been entwined with hers until he was glued to her side. She then placed her arm around him affectionately. It was an understated move that no one but him would have noticed as defensive maneuver. His wife was no fool.

"I'll send Octavia to deal with it."

"I would prefer handle it," Lincoln answered. He did not question Octavia's ability he just would rather take care of the threat to his family to make sure it was handled acceptably.

"You would attract too much attention." Lincoln comprehended Indra's meaning. They had been followed long enough that their pursuers would have seen his interactions with Clarke and the boy clinging to her to discern that he held some significance to her.

Even if they hadn't Lincoln would regardless be considered a potentially high threat to them if they were to attack. They would make sure to keep him in sight. Octavia would be seen as less of a threat, due to her age and gender.

"Send the nightblood with her," Lincoln commanded.

Indra thought for a moment and conceded. Sending Aden along with Octavia would improve their likelihood of success. Lincoln also wanted to get a measure of the young man.

Indra walked ahead tapping Aden on the shoulder and telling him loudly to go scout ahead with Octavia. Lincoln knew when they pulled far enough ahead they would double back around and come up behind their followers.

It was a concern, however, that with seeing two of the warriors gone their trackers would see this as an opportunity and attack them. But not only were they still outnumbered, Lincoln was reasonably sure, being only two, that they were a scouting party. Which would mean they were sent to observe and track and not meant to engage.

He watched the two young warriors head off into the forest at a brisk jog. Bellamy slide his weapon down from his back closer to his hands in preparation for a possible attack. Monty and Bray flanked Clarke and Wells still laughing and chatting. Indra inched closer towards his family. Everything was done in such an easy manner that most would confuse it with normal activity but he could feel the tension.

Just when he thought it would drown them a masculine scream wrung out from his left side far off into the trees where Clarke knew the men had been.

In a flash, Lincoln ran in-between his companions and where the scream had come from pulling his sword from its sheath. Before he had turned his back to them he had seen Monty pickup Wells and Bray grab onto Clarke each crouching low, limiting others visibility of them. Indra and Bellamy took up positions around the small group raising their weapons.

As they stood there waiting, they could hear the faint sounds of clashing blades. When a feminine yelp was heard Lincoln was on the move. He had heard the sound before, he knew her voice. Octavia had taken a hit.

He ran as fast as he could, he faintly heard Clarke call Bellamy's name. When he stopped hearing the sound of footsteps behind him he knew the man had heeded her call.

As the sound of fighting grew closer Lincoln eyed the body of an enemy grounder fifteen feet to his right. As much as Lincoln wanted to go make sure he was dead the clashing of blades was more pressing.

Lincoln jumped over a fallen tree and slide down a small decline when he saw them. Aden was fighting with the remaining foe as Octavia scurried out of the way of their heavy feet, blood dripping from her thigh in great rivulets. Lincoln ran to her and pulled her out of the way of the two fighting men.

He had only glanced the fight but he had saw enough to know that Aden was losing. Aden was skilled but he was lacking compared his opponent. The man looked to be around thirty, wiry, and quick. Aden's strength at such a young age lied in swiftness, but his adversary was just as quick and even more experienced. He was losing steam fast as well, not pacing himself.

Lincoln sprang into action when he saw Aden drop his guard, his arm exhausted with the exertion of the fight. The man went to swing his sword down and into the boy's chest. When Lincoln jumped in blocking the blow and pushing Aden away in the same motion. The enemy grounder looked startled for a moment at the change in adversary but adapted quickly.

He swung towards Lincoln's legs with his blade, and Lincoln jumped avoiding the edge. He was then shoved in the chest and knocked to the ground. The man stabbed down with his sword as Lincoln rolled out of the way kicking his opponent in his left knee. As he buckled, Lincoln scrambled to his feet. The grounder did the same and the two warriors faced off once again. They edged around each other slowly both planning their next move. Lincoln was about to jab and fade when the other man acted. He swung out towards Lincoln, who jumped back, the swords sharp tip barely missing him. When he went to swipe at him again Lincoln grabbed his arm. The man was surprised with Lincoln's strength, being able to stop his moment dead in its tracks. He used his other arm, sword in hand, to thrust up towards him. The blade met some resistance at first but then slipped in with a sucking sound. The warrior's face registered shock as he coughed, blood spraying from his mouth. Lincoln removed his blade with a growl and watched the man fall to his knees and then face first into the dirt. He gave a couple of harsh wheezes before he stopped making any sound at all.

Lincoln took deep gasping breaths as he looked around for any other potential threats. When he saw none, he focused on Octavia and Aden. Aden had been in the middle of binding Octavia's wound when he stopped to watch Lincoln's fight. Octavia smacked him on the back of the head to get his attention back. The boy looked embarrassed but resumed his efforts.

Lincoln went to Octavia's side. The wound was not nearly as bad as he first believed. Even before Aden applied his binding the bleeding had slowed considerably. He would still feel better when Clarke took a look at it.

He asked her, "Which one cut you?"

As he was hoping, she inclined her head towards the man he had been fighting. He got up and picked up the man's sword. He sniffed it and then licked it just to be sure.

"Poison?" Octavia asked sagely. They had done this dance before. Octavia had been hit with a poisoned arrow once. She had grown delirious with it running through her system. He had feared he would lose her, he had come very close to it as well. But they had managed to get an antidote at great cost.

"No," he answered. Happy they would not have to go through the ordeal again.

He walked back to her and together he and Aden lifted Octavia into a basket carry and began carrying her back to the others. She grumbled when the motion jostled her wounded leg.

"I'm sorry," Aden said to her quietly.

Lincoln quirked an eyebrow confused at the boy's show of empathy. He had not taken him to be so compassionate.

Things cleared when Octavia scoffed responding, "Idiot, next time I tell you to wait do it."

Lincoln shook his head. The boy had not seemed impetuous but he supposed it was a habit of all youth.

As they stumbled along Lincoln had a thought. It took him a moment to capture it and by the time he did, it was too late.

Before them appeared, the other grounder who had been following them. He had a large gash to his head but seemed to be unharmed otherwise. He had his arm raised an axe in hand ready to throw. He had been careless in his concern for Octavia. His first priority should have been managing the threat when he realized she would keep. But just as Clarke, he was out of practice. He had not had to worry about people trying to kill him in a long time. They had been fortunate like that. Lincoln cursed under his breathe.

Lincoln had two options. The first, he could wait until he threw the axe and easily dodge it and proceeded to attack him. But this would leave Octavia exposed and he wasn't sure if Aden would be quick enough to do the same as him. Either way one of them would take the blow if the grounder was not aiming at Lincoln specifically. Second, he could drop Octavia and charge the man. This would lead to him most likely being hit with the axe himself. Clarke would not be pleased if that happened.

Lincoln was scrambling to think of a third option when suddenly the man stiffened. A knife protruded from his mouth. It was abruptly removed and the man fell gracelessly to the forest floor dead.

They all gave a sigh of relief. Until Octavia saw the man standing in the grounder's place.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She demanded.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Bellamy had seen them approaching. Octavia being carried between the two men. He and Indra had backed them up against a cliffside wall so they could not be surrounded in case there were more enemy grounders.

"Bray!" Bellamy called to the young healer when he saw his injured sister. She arose hesitantly but when she saw what he did she rushed into action.

They laid her down and Bray carefully removed the tourniquet they had tied around her leg. Monty walked past them to the other men, he assumed.

Bellamy thought he heard the distant cry of 'Uncle John' from Wells but ignored it too distracted by Octavia's wound to care about what they others were doing.

He reached out and grabbed her hand when she hissed in pain. She griped it tight, making his fingers pale with the lack of blood supply.

Indra stood nearby watching but not involving herself. He knew she was worried about her second, the woman saw O as a daughter, but fussing over her would be a slight to not only her honor but O's. So, she kept her distance but watched everything like a hawk.

Bray tentatively pocked around the wound, "No arteries were hit. The muscle is slightly torn but that'll heal on its own." She sat back on her haunches as Clarke joined them evaluating the young woman's assessment. She nodded her agreement. "It'll need stitches though."

Clarke frowned, turning to Octavia, "It might be better to cauterize it. With all the walking, you won't have to worry about pulling stitches or getting an infection."

"Do it," Octavia puffed out.

"You'll have a nasty scar and it'll hurt like hell," Clarke wanted her to be informed and he appreciated that. Octavia did not, unfortunately.

"Are you deaf?! I said do it!"

Clarke sighed and looked down at Bray who was staring up at her waiting for her orders.

"Start a fire," she nodded and started gathering supplies.

Clarke kneeled next to Octavia. O flinched at the proximity but stopped trying to pull away when Clarke reached over and began lightly rewrapping the bandage as they waited for the fire.

Things had been tense between the two woman and Lincoln. Finding Lincoln with the blonde had shaken his sister. The two people she had placed all her anger in had been together all this time living the perfect life. Bellamy wondered if she thought Clarke had stolen the life she should have had. Did she even want that life? Or did she just want Lincoln? When she looked at Wells did she see the son that should've been hers?

Octavia had never shown any inclination to wanting any sort of domestic life. She had never talked about having children before. Bellamy didn't think she wanted any. Not to say she wasn't good with them. She had fun playing with the children at camp and had been good with Wells but at the end of the day he could always see the relief on her face when they returned to their parents.

The way that Lincoln was with Wells and the way he talked about the new baby he could tell the man had always wanted kids. The man was made to be a father. In his mind, this was just another thing that made the end to their relationship inevitable. He preferred this to O baring a child that she didn't want. He had seen that before, in Raven and others. Those people acted like their children were a burden sent to drain away their freedom. He knew that Octavia knew it was better this way, but she wasn't ready to admit it yet.

Octavia pulled him from his musings when she spoke to Clarke. It was the first time she had spoken to her since she had found out about Lincoln. It was still laced with aggression but it was a start.

"You let that bastard around you kid?"

Bellamy was confused to who she was talking about. He looked around for an explanation.

Indra stood at ease now that she knew the wound wasn't serious. She was currently interrogating Aden and judging by the look on her face she was not pleased with the young warrior. His eyes wandered to Lincoln and Bray who had quickly built the fire and were now sanitizing and heating the blade they were to use. Monty seemed to be preparing a quick meal since they were already stopped and would be for presumably the rest of the day.

When his eyes finally landed on Wells climbing up the back of a strange man he had his answer.

Wait. Not a stranger. "Holy shit," he couldn't help uttering. The man heard him and in an instant, he was staring into the slightly malicious eyes of John Murphy. "I thought you were dead."

"Don't you mean hoped," Murphy says as he pulls the young boy from his back and places him on the ground with a wide smile towards him.

Bellamy is utterly speechless for a moment. He doesn't think he's ever seen Murphy smile, a real smile, not a smirk or a sneer.

"Uncle John," the boy said excited. "I killed a rabbit." Uncle John?

"Dude, you've killed a bunch of rabbits," Murphy responded unimpressed.

"That was with traps," The boy said as exasperated as a six-year old could sound. "I killed this one with a bow." He finished proudly.

"Bull," was the succinct response.

As Wells turned to his father pleadingly, he saw Murphy's mouth twitch fighting a smile. "Daaddd! Tell Uncle John I killed the rabbit with a bow."

Linc quirked his eyebrow saying, "Are you sure? I do not remember that. Perhaps you were mistaken and it was Nisha?" Lincoln's usually stoic face met Murphy's as his son turned his face skyward and let out a longsuffering groan and smiled at the other man.

He smiled. At Murphy. John Murphy. The usually homicidal, egotistical, psychopath. He had thought he'd been having a stroke before but now he knew he was mistaken.

He turned to Clarke as Wells began to jog his father's memory. She was smiling bemusedly at the interaction. Okay definitely a stroke. Clarke was smiling at her husband, Lincoln, and Murphy, who her son refers to as Uncle John, as they tease her son Wells, named after the man she had once accused the same man called uncle of killing.

He turned to O who looked just a shell-shocked as him. At least he had one ally.

"What the hell?" she asked when they made eye contact.

Bellamy ran the hand not in Octavia's bone gripping hold through his hair. He shook his head in disbelief as Monty came over and gave Octavia a flask of water. He also handed Clarke a bowl of something with a rag in it, along with a dry one. She nodded.

"This is going to sting," she didn't hesitate as she removed the bandage and poured the liquid on Octavia's exposed wound. She jerked and almost broke his wrist with the abrupt movement. Clarke then began wiping the wound with the wet rag and then the dry one.

"What was that," Octavia asked annoyed.

"Alcohol, to clean the wound."

Monty crouched next to them and asked what Bellamy had been to stunned to. "So, Murphy?"

Clarke looked at them. She had obviously been expecting the question but still didn't seem to know how to answer. She shrugged, "It's a long story. Summary, life is complicated."

O snorted, "No shit."

Just then Bray returned holding a glowing blade in her hand, Lincoln trailing behind her. She nodded to him and he bent down and captured Octavia's injured leg after meeting her eyes for approval. Monty grabbed the other as he braced her shoulders. Clarke stepped back and whispered advice into Bray's ear. He was surprised by the competence he saw on the girl's face. Most of the time he thought of her as a silly tagalong, experiencing the world for the first time. But Clarke would not teach a fool. This girl knew her craft and had a confidence in her medical skill that she liked in the rest of her life.

She sat down and puckered the skin together. "Try not to flex the muscle or move too much," she told O as she placed the blade against his sister's skin. She screamed, reaching her hand around to grip the back of Bellamy's head, pulling some of his hair out. After a moment, she bit her lip to keep the cries in. Bray moved the tool further down her leg to finish sealing it. The smell of burning flesh filled the air and Monty gagged but managed to get himself under control.

When the knife was removed Octavia let out a slight 'fuck' before she promptly passed out. Bellamy kissed his sister's forehead, that was beaded with sweat, as he watched the two women wrap the wound letting out a sigh of relief.

…..

They were huddled around the fire that night. As Bellamy had believed they decided to rest for the remainder of the day giving Octavia's leg a chance to heal. Clarke was even reluctant about the next day. She said she would decide in the morning after having O run throw a few simple exercises. Bellamy was now thankful for their extremely slow pace. It would be much less demanding on her injured leg. She had, of course, insisted that she'd be able to walk and that they should keep moving but Bellamy didn't want to take the risk.

It was only when Indra had said 'It is better to rest now when we have the option then to need to later and not have the chance.' O had still been reluctant but she relented to her mentor.

Bellamy understood her respect for the woman but it was a constant thorn in his side that she deferred to her over him on every matter, even when he and the older woman were in agreement.

Aden had been sulking at the far end of the fire ever since he had been dressed down by Indra. She had told him that the boy had ignored Octavia's orders to take them out one by one while they were somewhat separated. Instead, when O had gone to take out the first grounder Aden had run off to attack the other and had been severely outmatched. Octavia was only able to knock her opponent out before she ran off to assist Aden. She had pushed him out of the way of a blow, catching it herself in the leg. Lincoln had shown up soon after to dispatch of the man while Murphy appeared and saved them from the last one.

"Idiot should've ran off to tell his friends rather than go after you guys," Murphy was saying.

Bellamy had thought the same.

"Maybe he thought he could take them out. Deplete our numbers?" Monty said unsurely.

"Maybe. I think he was just pissed you killed his friend," Murphy said the last part to Lincoln.

The man was sitting with his back against a tree, Clarke in-between his legs as Wells slept soundly, his head resting on her thigh as she ran a hand through his hair. If not for the topic of conversation being about enemy grounders who had come to stalk and or kill his wife, it would be a picture prefect family moment.

The image of them together should have taken some adjusting to. It should have been strange to see them together so at ease in each other's company. That normality made it feel familiar to him like it had always been this way. It was especially in the little things they did, they weren't overly affectionate but their slight touches lingered. When Lincoln brushed hair out of her face, helped her hike through a tough pathway, when she handed him a canteen, or how when she walked by him her hand would run across his shoulders as she passed and he would lean into the touch. But they were by no means different people. Clarke was still head strong and Lincoln was still overly somber. They would argue. Not often and never seriously, but about which way to go, if Clarke was pushing herself to hard, things like that.

What made everything a little surreal was Wells. Seeing him interact with his parents always shook him a bit. Bellamy had once known these two people intimately. They had been close friends, more like family. He knew their pasts, most of it anyway, the things that had been done to them, the things they had done, the people they had loved and lost, everything. But to Wells they were simply mom and dad. Not _wanheda_ or a reaper. He was a little jealous of it actually. Here was someone they could literally start a clean slate with, who knew nothing of their pasts. Bellamy was not a stranger to being imprisoned by his past. And they were free of it, if only to this one little person who loved them unconditionally. He kind of wanted that.

"Whatever the reason it was foolish. We were just lucky you were there." Lincoln was still beating himself up about the slip with the grounder.

"Yeah, how did you manage to be our guardian angel at the perfect moment?" Octavia questioned from between he and Indra. Her leg was propped up and her back was against the log he and Indra sat on. He could tell it was already feeling better, but she winced when she had to put weight on it.

"It's easy when you've been following someone for like two days," Murphy said with a smirk. "Getting rusty, Linc?" he teased.

Bellamy's eyes narrowed at the familiarity between them. They had avoided the topic but they were fast approaching the moment of truth. Especially, if Murphy planned on joining them in Arcadia.

Linc gave a faint smile and answered, "I knew someone was following us but you had not gotten close enough to spy on us so I didn't think you were a threat. It is not the first time I have been wrong."

The other man snorted, "Was trailing behind in case you were followed."

"How'd you know to come after us?" this time Clarke asked.

"Went to your village and you guys were gone. Aida told me about your visitors. Woman practically ripped my arm off demanding I go after you."

"Aida," Bellamy asked.

"Cyril's mother," Clarke responded.

"So, you know where they live. The people in the village know you well enough to 'demand' things of you. And you just packed your shit up to follow after them? You guys must be really close," Octavia inquired forcefully.

"Yep," was his only response. Changing the subject Murphy pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to Lincoln who caught it one handed, the other still circled around Clarke and her bump. "Took that off one of our grounder friends. Only thing I found. Doesn't mean shit to me though." Ignoring the death glare Octavia was sending him for avoiding her questions.

Lincoln flipped through what Bellamy now saw to be a book, or rather journal. Lincoln hummed speaking, "I had one as well when I spied for Anya. It is coded. It will be almost impossible to break. At least we can be sure they were ice nation."

"How can you tell," Bellamy asked intrigued. Lincoln flipped to the first page of the book. On the inside of the cover was a symbol, a and with a swirl pattern at the palm.

"That is the symbol for _Azgeda._ " Bellamy nodded his understanding.

"Maybe I could take a look at it," Monty pipped up. He was met with Lincoln's quizzical stare. "It probably uses a cypher that uses a keyword, right?" Linc nodded. "I'm good at that kind of stuff. I might be able to crack it."

Lincoln considered it for a moment. Bellamy saw Clarke's hand slip to the one he had encircled around her, giving it a soft squeeze. Lincoln then bobbed his head and tossed Monty the book.

He began studying it with a fever, pulling a blank page from the back and began to scribble down notes.

They grew silent then, except for the sound of Monty's scratching. Each one considering the implications that the ice nation had taken an active move against them. When their scouts did not return they would know something was wrong. They would send more, but at least they did not know they had Clarke with them, they killed them before they could share that fact.

Bray broke the silence with a seemingly innocent question but one that actually made each of the sky people freeze, "What do you guys miss most about the ark?"

Everyone who had grown up on the Ark was silent. Most of them chose not to think about the home they had left behind. There were too many people they associated with the lose and the Ark itself wasn't exactly full of warm and fluffy memories for them. Bellamy thought about his mother, Clarke and Murphy's own father's who had been floated. On the Ark, similarly to the ground, the needs of their survival often outweighed their humanity.

Even Aden perked up a little interested in their foreign homeland.

But Monty answered in true Monty form, "The grow room."

Octavia laughed, "Once a stoner always a stoner."

Monty rolled his eyes and explained to the curious grounders. "We were able to grow our food-"

"And drugs," added O.

Monty continued ignoring her, "In an environmentally controlled room. After living on the ground for so long and having to deal with the elements I appreciate that setup more every day." He said wistfully.

Monty and his mother, along with many of the other survivors from the agro station, had taken up the task of growing food for the colony. He new it was a pain in the ass job but they had been managing very well. Even building green houses to grow food during the winter months. They had traded seeds and crops with nearby grounder villages who had become their allies. Even sharing some of the knowledge they had carried down from the Ark, like the green houses.

"The books," Bellamy said. They weren't physical books but digital downloads of them. Only the Phoenix station ever got to eye see a real book. The rest of them only got the digital versions, which didn't matter too much to him. It was the same material just in different formats. Bellamy would read anything they managed to get their hands on. He would read the stories to Octavia and his mother, but he would mainly just read to himself whenever he got the chance.

"Air conditioning," Clarke said brushing the sweat from her brow to emphasize her point. The grounders were clearly confused, never having heard of air conditioning. "It was an electrical system that could blow cold air when you wanted," she explained.

"Ahh, that sounds fantastic, could we make one," Bray asked hopefully.

Monty smirked, "I already have." Clarke and Bray perked up like excited puppies. "We can only use it sparingly on special occasions but me and Raven worked out the details."

"You're joking," Clarke spoke mouth agape.

"Nope." Clarke smiled and Bellamy let himself believe that for a second she was happy to be coming with them. If only to get the chance to feel air conditioning once again.

"The machine hum," Monty continued.

The grounders were once again confused.

Clarke explained for them. "Remember in Mount Weather," Bellamy was expecting some emotional backlash from one of the two but nothing came. He was surprised. In a way, that place had been both of their undoings. It looks like they had both moved past the troubling events that had lead them to their current path. "How the engines and technology made a rhythmic humming noise." Indra an Lincoln nodded, she looked at the two others, their faces still showed some bewilderment, being too young to have been at the mount, but they seemed to grasp the general idea. "It wasn't loud but we could hear it 24/7, night and day. A soft buzz in the background of our lives. If you didn't hear it, it was a reason for concern because that meant something was broken."

"After we landed I couldn't sleep for like a month. I missed the hum. The forest had its own but it wasn't the same. It's animals and insects, living things. It's constant but it lacked the rhythm of the Arc."

"How'd you finally get to sleep," Aden surprised them by asking breaking his moratorium,

Monty snorted, "Jasper. We shared a tent and his snoring became my knew machine hum." Those of them who had met Jasper laughed, the others smiled at their joy.

After the laughter died down Murphy spoke up, "Glass Sorenson."

"You and Glass," Clarke asked skeptically.

"Clarke, you wound me. Didn't think I could get a Pheonix girl."

Bellamy leaned over towards the boy and extended his fist, "Nice." He said when Murphy returned the bump. Monty quickly joined in on the bump and the three men laughed.

"Pigs," Clarke muttered but ended up laughing as well.

Octavia who had been silent said so quietly everyone almost missed it, "The stars."

Bellamy stared at his sister, sadness crossing his face.

Because she was a second child and not even supposed to be alive, she had the worst memories of the Ark. To her it was a prison. She was confined to their one room housing assignment, never allowed to leave or even know anyone outside of him and their mother. The one time she did leave, because of his assurances, she was discovered and their mother was executed. Then she was thrown in lock-up. Octavia never even had a chance at a life until she came here.

"They were always so close. It was like you could touch them if you just reached out your hand." She turned her head skyward then staring at the twinkling stars above them.

A melancholy mood was slowly taking over but none of them were ready to shut the door on the memories they had allowed to resurface, not just yet.

"My dad," Clarke said quietly. Lincoln's arm tightened around her, like he was trying to protect her from her own memories.

"My dad," Monty added. His father had died on the ground but he had not seen him since before he left the Arc. He had once confided in Bellamy that he didn't even remember the last time he saw his dad. He knew that killed him a little.

"Mine too," Murphy said as well, angrily tossing a stick into the fire and watching the sparks fly up. It was common knowledge that Murphy's father had been floated after stealing medicine for a sick Murphy. His mother had turned to alcoholism in her despair and blamed her son for his father's death. He wasn't surprised when he didn't mention missing his mother.

"Mom," Octavia said quickly brushing a tear from her cheek. Bellamy hung his head in shame. He would always feel that their mother's death was his fault, because it was. He knew Octavia felt the same. She had said as much to him once, she had later backtracked saying she'd only said it in anger but he knew. She thought it was his fault and he didn't blame her for that. So, he was surprised when he felt her twine her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand appreciatively.

The group faded to silence then. Even the grounders seemed haunted by the ghosts of their pasts.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Sorry this took so long. Work has been kicking my ass. Octavia perspective in this one. Not so much action, however. Already started next chapter which will be more exciting.

Chapter 9

When they had left to find Clarke, Octavia had assumed they'd find her living like a monk. A life of contrition to make up for the things she had done. Octavia could forgive the mass murder, that didn't bother her.

No, what bothered her was that those killings included the deaths of their allies. There was no honor in that. The people who trusted her, believed in her, risked their own lives for her. She tossed them aside like they were nothing. There was a level of sacrifice there that she was reluctant to believe Clarke returned.

O knew that wasn't exactly fair. Clarke had been willing to sacrifice her child to help them, she would most likely be willing to sacrifice herself as well. But O didn't exactly care if it was unfair.

But instead of finding her living in solitude they found her happy. And pregnant. And married. To Lincoln. Her Lincoln.

Or he had been her Lincoln. At least she thought he had.

After Mount Weather, he was broken, different. She hadn't known how to help him. What they had done to him was not something she knew how to handle. Octavia would see the haunted look in his eyes. The way his hands would shake with the need he felt for the crap they pumped into his veins. He would go away for days at a time, exhausting himself until he would come home and literally collapse. Abby had told her it would take time. She had had patients on the Ark that became addicted to substances. Made dependent on them like Lincoln had, but because of laws they simple began spacing them. Unable or unwilling to expend the resources to treat them. But she had studied old medical cases where she found that these patients never truly freed themselves from the hunger. But they could have normal fulfilling lives, if they were strong enough to fight the addiction, if those around them were strong enough to help fight it.

She had basically told her that Lincoln would never be the same, would never be able to stop fighting. But this wasn't a battle Octavia knew how to fight. She had thought pushing him to just forget about it and move on would be enough. To use his anger at being made helpless to fight would get him past everything.

It worked for her, why not him? All her life she had been controlled, confined to a cell in one form or another. When she got to the ground even Bellamy had tried to control her. Once she realized that if she wanted freedom, to be in control of herself, she would have to take it, she did. She hadn't realized that her freedom would come at the cost of Lincoln's love.

At the time, Octavia wasn't sure how much longer they could go on like that. They grew distant from each other, barely speaking with one another. They had even gotten to the point where they only saw each other when they returned to their shared living space at night.

About a month after Mount Weather, he had come back from one of his excursions with a tranquility she had not seen…ever. She had never seen him so at peace. Lincoln had always struggled with the world, with himself. He thought his people's actions were wrong, so he betrayed them for her, for the sky people. But that betrayal ate at everything he believed and had been taught about loyalty and allegiance. O knew it was hard for him but he had told her she had been enough to bridge the loss of identity and community he felt. So, when he came back that day she thought he had finally made peace with everything.

Two weeks later she had been proven wrong. He had gone away again and when he returned he was more on edge than ever. Lincoln would pace the room like a caged animal until she would finally pull him into bed. Even then he would twist and turn in his sleep, where before he would lay as still as death and be up in a moment at any sudden noise or movement. So, months later when he told her he was leaving she hadn't been surprised.

That hadn't stopped her freak out though. She had yelled and raged and threw things. Calling him a coward, saying he was giving up on them, worst of all that he was a _splita._

Despite her anger, he had asked her, begged her, to leave with him. He had wanted to head away into the woods and hide. But Octavia was done hiding.

She was happy with her life. Indra had trained her as her second. She trusted and believed in Octavia's abilities. She liked how people relied upon her, looked to her for help and guidance. The girl who they hide under the floor was now a fearsome warrior few dared to cross.

She knew what her friends thought though, what Bellamy thought. They believed she was ruled by a rage that was eating her up inside. She wasn't. That rage fueled her. Anger was the only thing that ever got her what she wanted.

Octavia eyed the couple ahead of her. She had taken the rear today. Her leg was quickly healing but it still slowed her down somewhat. This did however give her the perfect opportunity to observe them. She had watched the comfortable touches between the two for weeks now. A brush of hair, trailing of fingers down arms, and hand holding. It was sweet. It made bile rise up her throat.

When she and Lincoln had been together it had been agonizingly long moments of separation broken by moments of intense passion. They hungered for the others touch, the stares they shared that would heat the others blood.

It wasn't what they have. What they have is sweet and relaxed like they knew the other better then themselves. It irked Octavia. She didn't want their life. The idea of being a wife and mother was too confining to her. No. What bothered her was that they had it. Especially that they had it together.

She knew Lincoln deserved happiness. The only wrong he had ever committed was breaking her heart. Even his actions as a traitor were meant to achieve peace.

But did he have to have it with her.

Clarke was always everything Octavia wasn't. She was rational, respected, and inspiring. People listened to Clarke, they lived or died by her words. Octavia was a soldier but Clarke was a Commander. Her old jealousy of the woman bloomed anew when she had seen the way Lincoln had embraced her. Clarke got everything. Even if what Clarke had Octavia didn't necessarily want.

But she knew Lincoln wanted it, wanted her. O realized she would never have been able to give him the life he had wanted. She knew that first day when he had proudly introduced Wells to them and rubbed Clarke's stomach. They had been on different paths since the beginning and Octavia was just now realizing it.

Bellamy's voice pulled her from her thoughts giving her a much needed reprieve from her internal dialogue.

"Clarke," the woman in question tilted her head to let him know she was listening. "I gotta ask about the scar."

O saw Lincoln tense noticeably next to her. Wells was on his shoulders, the young boy had fallen asleep, his heed resting on top of his father's own. It was almost cute. Except for the fact that he was drooling down the side of Lincoln's head and he was paying absolutely no mind to it. Gross.

Clarke reached a hand up to the scar, running it along the raised edge. Octavia had wondered about it too. It was jagged and rough. She was honestly surprised Clarke had survived it. It ran dangerously close to an artery.

"Got in a fight with the wrong person," was Clarke's cryptic answer.

Murphy's snort of amusement pulled all eyes to him. Murphy. She was still confused about him. And Lincoln and Clarke were being tight lipped about his appearance in their lives. Last anyone from Arcadia had seen of him, he was heading off with Jaha and a couple other idiots looking for the mecca that was the city of Light. Guess he didn't find it.

"Don't tell me you gave it to her?" Monty asked imploringly. He had not yet forgiven the man for all that he had done, but unlike Octavia, he was making an effort to give him a second. Or maybe third? Chance.

With a dark smirk, "You think I'd still be standing here if I had?" Lincoln grunted in agreement. Whether from acknowledging that he would have killed the man himself or from knowing that Clarke's enemies rarely survived betraying her, she wasn't sure.

"So, who did?" Aden inquired.

He was another one O wasn't too fond of. The Commander's little pet. He just like his mistress seemed to hold a soft spot for the blonde princess. They liked her confidence, her fight. If Octavia didn't know her she might like it too.

But Aden could be a potential problem. Was he spy or errand boy? Returning _Heda_ her much desired prize. Even seven years later, everyone wanted a piece of the Commander of Death. Whether to use her for her skills or to kill her themselves to gain her power. Either way, Clarke was being hunted. As evidence with the encounter the other day.

"I must admit, I as well have always been interested in the story." Bray shyly spoke up, afraid of angering her mentor.

When Clarke showed no signs of answering Murphy did for her. Offhandedly throwing out, "Emerson."

Octavia frowned, the name sounded familiar but she couldn't place it. Was it someone form the Ark? She turned her head slightly and saw the same bewildered expression on her brother's face until it cleared into a scowl.

"From Mount Weather?" Bellamy all but barked out.

"That'll be the one," Murphy once again answered for the silent Clarke like he was talking about the weather. "Never met the man myself. Heard quite the story about him though."

"He came after you," it wasn't a question. Clarke finally responded, even if it was a nonverbal nod. "What happened?"

Clarke sighed stealing herself. "I was careless. I followed me. About a year after I left he finally caught up to me. He attacked me. Lincoln killed him."

"Not soon enough," Lincoln said as he grabbed Clarke gently around the neck and ran his thumb along the same scar she had before.

Octavia narrowed her eyes an uneasy feeling filling her, "You guys were traveling together?"

A year after Clarke left. Lincoln had left four months after her. It only took him eight months to get over her and under Clarke. That bastard. She knew Wells was six, almost seven, so it hadn't taken them long to get together but so soon. She had mourned for years. Sure, she had taken comfort in the bodies of others but she hadn't fallen in love with them.

Lincoln was still preoccupied with Clarke, but the other woman could see where O's thoughts were turning.

"No." Octavia could hear the sincerity in her voice but could also tell there was more. Still, some of her fire did cool at that. She was also not ignorant to the fact that Bellamy had dropped back next to her. Probably in case she tried to attack one of them again. She rolled her eyes, she wasn't some wild animal, she could control herself.

"But?" she prodded. Lincoln finally acknowledged the awkward conversation the two women were stumbling through.

"After I had left and realized…" Lincoln trailed off for a moment a dark look entering his eyes as they settled on her. Octavia's mouth formed a silent 'O'. When he realized she wasn't going to follow him.

A gnawing ate at her. She had finally admitted to herself that they would not have worked, but he had still been her friend. And she had left him alone. He had been beaten and broken and had needed her and instead of rising to the challenge she abandoned him. She had failed to put his needs above her own when he needed her most. Of course, it was so much easier now to acknowledge him pain and her callousness when she was no longer in the state of mind she had been. Back then they had all been battling their own demons. It looked like Clarke and Lincoln had found a way to battle them together when she and him hadn't.

"I didn't really know where to go. There were places I could've gone but…I don't know I just wasn't in the right place to go there." Lincoln spoke slowly. That time in his life was not something he seemed to like to think about.

Octavia could see Indra up front listening intently. It was subtle quirk of head that gave her away. The woman had once thought of Lincoln as a son. His actions had hurt her more than anyone. She now understood why he had done what he had but she was still working on forgiving him. She hoped that hearing his tale would help heal the gap that had formed. She may still be mad at Lincoln but she knew that both he and Indra dearly wanted the other back in their lives. Their bond had been forges with blood and steel. Two warriors who had placed their lives in each other's hands and trusted the other implicitly. Breaking that bond was like losing a limb.

"I tracked down Clarke instead. I'm not sure why. It took me six months to track her down."

"And then it was happily ever after, after that?" O snarked. So, they weren't traveling together but they had still hooked up less than a year after they had parted ways.

Lincoln's snorted "No. She bit my head off. Told me not to follow her and to leave her the fuck alone." She couldn't see her face but she could tell Clarke was rolling her eyes.

Bray's shocked "What?" startled her. "I can't even imagine you two not together." She would find it more amusing if she wasn't experiencing the same thing. Bray was not even twenty yet, she had known them since she was a child. The people who she had known for so long, had assumed she knew everything about them, had this whole other life before even knowing her. Octavia could relate to the surreal feeling that instilled. She was there for the first half of the story and couldn't even imagine how they had gotten to this point.

Lincoln laughed, Octavia had never heard him laugh so freely before, even Bellamy looked surprised. He and Monty had taken on slight smiles as they watched their once friend enjoying life. Murphy smirked as well. "It was a long road to get here. When I refused to leave she actually poisoned me."

Bray gasped. And now it was Bellamy and Monty's term to laugh. "You make it sound so bad," Clarke weekly protested.

"And how exactly do you make it sound good, Princess?" Murphy asked feigning genuine curiosity.

"Well, John, I didn't poison him as much as sedate him."

"Clarke, I think you are going to have to elaborate on that," Monty said as he wiped tears from his eyes from laughing.

"I made a paste out of a plant I had become acquainted with in my travels. It had the wonderful effect of paralyzing the subject when it came into contact with the skin. Only for a few hours." Bellamy started laughing again at Clarke's shameless explanation. While everyone else looked at her, sans Lincoln and Murphy, slightly stunned. "What? He's fine," gesturing to him to emphasize his point.

"A fox began to gnaw on my boot while I could not move." The deadly warriors childish pout almost made Octavia crack a smile. "After that I followed but kept my distance. About month later Emerson attacked Clarke. I had not realized he had been following her as well."

"Why'd you keep following her if she didn't want you to?" Aden asked confused. The boy was experienced in many ways but he was still young in others. Life was never to be taken at face value.

"Because I could tell she needed a friend just as much as I did," he told the boy. He had not taken a liking to him. The looks he sent Clarke were one thing, but then after he had gotten Octavia hurt he had turn down right cold. He had put someone he entrusted his family to in danger and consequently put them in danger. That was something she knew Lincoln would not forgive.

Something cliqued with Octavia then. Lincoln had gone after Clarke because she was the only one as broken as he was. And helping Clarke fix her shit had helped him fix his. Octavia hated how she could relate. She had done the same thing with Jasper. He had been really screwed up after Maya died, he just couldn't cope. At first Octavia had gravitated towards him because he was the only one showing how fucked up he was. Everyone else was keeping themselves all bottled up, but she just couldn't. So, they talked and laughed and drank…a lot. But eventually she got him to stop drinking during the day. Got him to talk to Monty again. And even got him to make the occasional joke. He would never forget Maya, just like she would never forget Lincoln, but they could both find a way to stumble on. By showing him the way she was able to find it herself. She knew Bellamy didn't think it was the healthiest of coping mechanisms but big brothers were meant to be ignored.

Clarke finished the story rather too succinctly for everyone's taste, "He got me to a friend in a nearby village who was able to patch me up. After that we traveled together. Six months later we ended up in Mascus and never left."

Clarke turned to Lincoln then the two sharing a charged look. Octavia may not want their life, but she could admit that not everything in their lives was so bad.

O trudged ahead gracelessly, reveling in the destruction her boots created and the pain that twinge in her thigh. A bitter smile forming.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: I am not a doctor. I do not play one on tv, I am not intelligent enough to even impersonate one, so I am sorry for any medical inconsistencies.

Oh, I know most people are extremely interested in the Murphy background, (as you should be and I would be if I didn't know) but I am sorry to say as of now I have no intentions of telling you. (Insert evil laugh) As far as I have planned things out it doesn't have a place, but there will be more hints and illusions to it and maybe if I'm nice (I'm not so don't get your hopes up) I'll do a special Murphy chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter 10

Clarke and the others were walking steadfastly through the forest when her muscles cramped once more. She had been ignoring the slight contractions for the better part of the day. They were few and far between, telling her that she wasn't yet in labor but that it would be coming.

She hadn't told anyone. If she had they would most likely insist on stopping, especially Lincoln. Clarke just wanted to get a little further. She wouldn't be able to travel for at least three days after giving birth. She wanted to get in as much walking while she could. Their destination still seemed so far away, their impending deadline making it seem even further. The thought of time having an effect on distance amused her somewhat.

Walking, however, was becoming increasingly more difficult with the increasing intensity of her contractions. Clarke grimaced and rubbed her stomach trying to assuage the discomfort she felt. She quickly withdrew her hand and smiled slightly when she saw Lincoln peer at her from the corner of his eyes. He narrowed them at her suspiciously but was thankfully distracted by a question from Bellamy. She wasn't under any delusions, she knew he would realize soon enough what she was hiding. He had been watching her closely for days now, knowing her time was near.

To distract herself from the pain she had been asking Monty about her old friends and her mother. The new information shifting her focus as she processed it.

Her mother was not only co-leader of Arcadia, with Marcus Kane, by popular vote, but was also living with him. They weren't married and in public they apparently displayed no forms of physical affection, but they had been together the last five years.

Monty said she was happy. That's what should matter. That she's happy. And it does…

Yet, Clarke can't help but feel a pang in her chest at the thought of her mother moving on from her father. It was a ridiculous notion but one she was wholly unable to help. Clarke knew her mother still loved her father, just as she still loved Finn, and Lincoln, Octavia. Moving on did not erase those feelings. Loving someone else did not mean you had to stop loving others. That's not how things worked. Things would be so much easier if they did.

Nonetheless, picturing her mother with someone else reminded her she wasn't with who she was supposed to be.

Another foolish thought. People weren't supposed to be with anyone. Clarke didn't believe in things like soulmates. No. Clarke believed that relationships were built on connections, on hard work, and affection.

She looked at her husband then. The love she felt for him was overwhelming, it eclipsed almost every emotion she had experienced previously. She hadn't always felt this way though. She and Lincoln hadn't been 'meant to be', they decided to be. They had bonded and realized that they could be something more. Just as her mother was doing with Kane.

Setting those thoughts aside for the moment, she reflected on what else Monty had divulged. Things, of course, had not been completely smooth sailing for the Arcadians.

Monty had told her a man named Charles Pike lead a radical faction within their community. He and many others had crashed landed in Ice Nation territory. They had been met with deadly persecution and were hunted down. Similarly, to the100 they had to adapt quickly. They, however, became jaded and cruel, where the 100 had become resilient and careful.

When Pike's group had first rejoined with the rest of the Ark, they had advocated for war.

Clarke remembered Pike from the Ark. He had been a wonderful teacher and a good kindhearted man. She could not imagine the horrors he must have suffered to veer him so far from the man she remembered.

Well, she could imagine, had lived it. Clarke shivered with the knowledge that if she had not left than she may have very well become Pike. Thinking everyone was out to get them and warring constantly with them all in order to protect against any possible threat they could make towards them. The problem with thinking like that, is that you would never stop thinking like that. One would see threats everywhere. Eventually, the world would become your enemy. That was no way to live.

After Pike and his people had almost started a war with a nearby grounder village, they had been given an ultimatum. Get with the program or leave the colony. Not having the numbers to survive on their own, they begrudgingly stayed. Some of their activities had led to some unrest amongst the others and they often petitioned against many of her mother's and Kane's mandates but they maintained a tentative peace.

It helped sway people from their side when in recompense for her betrayal, Lexa had sent ambassadors for protection as an offer of peace between the two peoples.

Monty had sadly admitted to her that his mother was a part of this fractured group after suffering the loss of his father. She had no idea how to comfort him. She would not give him hope when she was not sure if his mother could turn away from her anger. When she knew it was so much easier to give into it.

Clarke had asked Bellamy what he had been up to when all this was occurring, surprised he had been willing to sit back and watch things unfold. He quietly confessed to her that he had been too preoccupied with Octavia and her downward spiral to get involved. Clarke only nodded feeling it inappropriate for her to ask about the other woman's troubles. She knew from the timeline that most of this had occurred just after Lincoln had left.

She was, however, thankful he had left before everything had come to a boil. Any grounder, allied or not, had been declared an enemy by Pike's group. If Lincoln had been there at the time he may have been captured, tortured…killed. Even if what they have had never become this, she would not want Lincoln hurt. Clarke had trusted him implicitly, as with many other grounders she had come to know. Pike's crusade could have cost them not only allies but dear friends.

Trying to steer the conversation in a less serious direction, Clarke broached what she hoped was a lighter subject.

"What about Raven?" she asked tentatively hopeful. She and Raven had issues but they had remained friends.

Monty smiled wistfully and…blushed?

"She's good. Wanted to come but her leg is still screwed up." He stared accusingly at Murphy who was up ahead with Wells and Indra.

Clarke cringed at the recollection. Murphy had done some horrible things in the past but he had turned, for the most part, over a new leaf. He had earned her trust long ago and she had earned his. They had a grudging friendship that was based on respect and indebtment. They both had pasts to make up for and in Clarke's opinion Murphy had done a good job in that regard. But Monty didn't know that. Couldn't know it. Not yet, at least.

"It's not so bad," Monty continued a moment later. "But long trips like this are a pain. She's also Sinclair's assistant. She's in charge of almost the whole engineering department now." She could hear the pride in Monty's voice and now definitely knew there was something there. "She's also a mom." Clarke actually stopped shocked. She always found it hard to believe she herself was a mother, and now hearing that Raven was also a mother she was glad, in a way that, that surprise extended to her as well. Monty smirked at her, "Yep, Daisy just turned five. While we were away actually." He tacked on the last part bittersweetly, obviously upset he had missed the young girl's birthday.

"You're not the father?" The way he spoke of her, Clarke could tell there was love for the little girl but a distance there as well. He didn't claim ownership of her like a parent would.

Monty shook his head, the smile slipping from his face completely. "Wick," he said succinctly.

Clarke remembered Wick. He had also been an engineer and took great joy in pressing Raven's buttons. She couldn't say she was surprised that it had turned into a relationship, or passion at the very least. "We lost him about two years back." Before she could ask Monty told her, "Pneumonia. Colony suffered a bad outbreak of the flu, his case just turned bad."

Clarke nodded understandingly. She had wanted to ask about his relationship with Raven but knew now wasn't the time.

"What about the others? Miller? Monroe?" She asked with some trepidation knowing she may not get the answers she'd like.

"Miller and his boyfriend, Bryan, got married and are doing pretty good."

"Too good," Bellamy threw out from behind them.

Clarke looked at him questioningly but turned to Monty when he started laughing. "Bellamy has the pleasure of living next door to them. And apparently the honeymoon phase is still going strong even after six years."

Bellamy grumbled as Clarke laughed hard and then whimpered in pain when a contraction took her off guard. Lincoln was at her side in a flash.

"We're stopping for the day."

Octavia immediately began to protest, "We've still got five hours of light. We're not stopping now. We're moving slow enough as it is."

Lincoln glared at her, unperturbed at her anger but annoyed by her gall. He rarely showed a great range of emotion, but when he did it was usually in regard to his family. This was one of those times where one could clearly tell what he was thinking murderous thoughts. "We are moving slowly because Clarke is now nine months pregnant."

"And whose fault is that." She spat irately at him.

Lincoln clenched his teeth and continued as if she hadn't spoken. "We are stopping now because Clarke is in labor."

Clarke wanted to laugh at the gasping fish faced look that came over Octavia's face. Her eyes filled with a sort of panic. Taking a step away, she eyed Clarke's stomach warily, as if the child was going to burst its way out of her and attack.

Bellamy approached her from behind, a concerned frown marred his face, "Why the hell didn't you tell us you were in labor? What were you gonna do, Clarke, keep walking and then pop a squat, push the kid out and keep moving?"

Bray came over quickly and began fussing over Clarke.

"Lovely, Bellamy," Clarke turned wide pleading eyes to Lincoln. She knew from past experiences that he would occasionally cave to her innocent expression. "I can go a little bit longer. The contractions are at least ten minutes apart." She said and then immediately grit her teeth as another one overtook her. She reached out blindly for Lincoln's hand and then squeezed it roughly when she found it. He rested his other hand on her lower back to steady her. When she looked at him he rolled his eyes exasperated. It had been worth a shot.

Murphy and Wells had dropped back when the rest of them had stopped, while Aden and Indra stayed on watch posted like sentinels around the small group.

"I may not be the smartest guy here but I'm pretty sure that wasn't ten minutes." Murphy remarked and Monty nodded sheepishly in agreement.

Wells ran up to her and stared at her with wide excited eyes, "Is she coming?"

She ran her hand through his hair, "Not yet, but soon."

He squealed and began jumping around. Murphy picked him up and threw him over his shoulder, "Common, squirt, let's start setting up." Clarke gave him a grateful look as he corralled her enthusiastic son.

Clarke looked up into Lincoln's frustrated gaze and smiled. He begrudgingly smiled back. Despite his annoyance with her, this was the moment they had both been eagerly waiting for since they had found out she was pregnant. They knew this would cause many other problems but they could not quell their excitement either.

"Will you please sit down and have our baby now," Lincoln asked her softly.

"Like you willful offspring would give me a choice," was her response.

Her attention was pulled from her husband when Bellamy spoke. "Okay, so this is happening." She had been with the man when they crashed landed to a possibly/probably uninhabitable earth, faced an army of grounders, extinction at the hands of the mountain men, and death itself. But she could honestly say she had never heard him this worried. "What do we do?" He asked her with big pleading eyes.

Lincoln laughed softly next to her and she turned to him giving him a look. He had acted in a similar way when she had gone into labor with Wells. Her hardened, stoic warrior had panicked. It had been quite adorable. Clarke was now amused that he was laughing at Bellamy for acting the same way he had. Lincoln's smile turned as close to bashful as it could get.

She placed a reassuring hand on Bellamy's shoulder. "Don't worry, Bell. Me and Bray will do the heavy lifting you just focus on not passing out."

Bellamy relaxed a smidge at her easy manner and smiled partially relieved. "I think I can do that."

"Me too," Monty answered behind them. He seemed the most relaxed out of her old friends. Maybe it was just a Blake thing.

"Actually, if you could avoid passing out while setting up a tent that would be great," Bray said in-between her administrations. Bellamy and Monty nodded and set off to do the young healers bidding, knowing that she was not actually asking them and just happy to be able to help. Octavia used the moment to disappear as well.

Lincoln wrapped his arm more firmly around her as they began towards the small camp being set up.

"I left the baby blanket Atha made at home," the thought had just popped into her head unbidden.

When Wells had been born Atha had made him a baby blanket. It was light grey with a small yellow star and a little green tree embroidered in one corner. A symbol of both his parents. When Wells had outgrown it, Clarke had packed it away to save it for any future children they might have. She had completely forgotten to take it with them.

Lincoln kissed her temple soothingly, "We have other things to worry about." He stated it simply without any harshness. Just wanting to redirect her thoughts to the situation at hand.

Lincoln had become very adept at that over the years. Clarke's mind often wandered to things too big for her to deal with. He would put things in perspective for her, reminding her what really mattered. Their family.

"Okay," Clarke responded more than a little petulantly. Lincoln managed to cover his laugh with a cough, knowing now was not the time to be laughing at his wife.

A sharp cramp pulled Clarke up short. She doubled over clutching her stomach. This contraction was worse than the others, but Clarke knew it would get much, much worse before it was over. Oh, the wonders of child birth.

She grit her teeth and took deep steading breaths. Lincoln leant into her, whispering words of encouragement into her ear and letting her squeeze the utter crap out of his hand. Her grip eased as the rest of her body began to slowly relax. Each of her muscles untensing as the contraction began to pass.

Clarke was finally able to stand up straight. Still, by this point, Lincoln and Bray were half carrying her forward.

She took a moment to give her surroundings an appraising look. The trees were tall and sturdy, the canopy lush and green, and five yards to their left there was the bottom of a large mountain. It was nowhere near as large or menacing as Mount Weather but still impressive.

This was a good place to have her baby. Not like she had much of a choice, but she was glad it was so utopian. It wasn't their little hut or the clinic but it was beautiful.

Clarke's eyes scanned across the surrounding forest and stopped. She gripped Lincoln's hand, this time in fear rather than pain.

"Lincoln," she knew he could hear the tremble in her voice, knew it had nothing to do with the baby.

He barely glanced at her before his eyes shot to where hers were focused.

Lincoln tensed when he saw what she did.

A grounder, well camouflaged and crouched in the greeneries barely half a mile away.

Clarke looked around once more and now saw what she had missed originally, what they had all missed. They were surrounded by at least fifteen grounders, that she could decipher. Her eyes flit from one barely discernable form to the other until they landed on the first one she had seen. This time, however, she met the cold unforgiving gaze of their enemy.

Realizing he had been caught, he let out a great yell and threw himself from his hiding place, the others following suit.

Indra and Octavia were quick to react, drawing their weapons the instant they heard the man scream. The one closest to the group charged Indra. She blocked his swing with her forearm and shoved him back as she slashed out with her own sword cutting him down.

Bellamy and Aden had drawn their weapons by now. Bellamy had his rifle, but he also had his machete at his hip ready at a moment's notice if need be.

Clarke was about to call for Wells when she saw Murphy shove her son into Monty's arms and push them behind him. The twin daggers Lincoln had gifted him sprang to his hands, almost like magic, ready to slice anyone who got too close to them.

Lincoln took a step forward but stopped when he realized his hand was still entwined with hers. He turned to her and she could see the war brewing inside him. He wanted to fight, he needed to protect them from these men, but he did not want to leave her.

The enemy grounders were now practically on top of them. Octavia was fighting two, as Aden faced off against another, Bellamy was shooting down as many as he could at a distance. But she knew he only had a finite number of bullets and the grounders, although largely unfamiliar with guns, knew enough to dodge.

"Lincoln, GO!" Clarke urged him. She didn't want him to leave but they needed him. If they were to survive this they needed to even the playing field. He would do no one any good standing here guarding her while their friends were overwhelmed. He took another unsure step away from her.

Trying to buoy him forward, "Linc- urggghhh." Clarke was cut off when another contraction raked her body.

Lincoln turned back to her. His eyes were wide and worried, his hand shook. He was torn.

She shoved at him this time. "Go, they need you," she managed through gritted teeth.

He gave her one last pleading look before he released her hand. Clarke felt the loss of contact like it was a stab to the chest. Lincoln's sword rung out harshly as he pulled it from its sheath.

"John!" He yelled as he charged forward. Murphy turned towards Lincoln, still maintaining awareness of the surrounding enemies, as he withdrew his knife from the underside of a grounders jaw. "Protect them!"

John nodded solemnly. It was a testament to the man Murphy had built himself into that Lincoln would trust him so implicitly with his family.

Clarke's eyes followed her husband as he ran into the fray, slashing and stabbing anyone he could. Her attention only being torn away when Murphy managed to back his way all the way to them.

"Bray, Monty, get Clarke to the mountainside. I saw a cave just off to the side. We'll back ourselves in there."

"But then we'll be trapped," Clarke only now realized how terrified Bray was.

She grabbed her young apprentices hand reassuringly, "It'll be okay." The other woman's breaths were short and labored. The healer was quickly making herself hyperventilate. Clarke grabbed her hand more forcefully, enough to sting, and starred straight into her frantic eyes. "You need to calm down. We will be okay as long as you stay calm." When her breathing did not change she pulled her hand towards her body and placed it on her stomach. "I need you to stay calm. The baby is coming and I…I need you." Clarke was begging her by the end.

Her efforts were rewarded as she watched Bray's face turn from hysterical to steal. Bray was a healer. She was young, inexperienced, naïve, and so much more, but at the end of the day she knew how to take care of others.

"Okay," Bray nodded to show that she had reigned herself in.

"We good," Murphy pulled their attention to him. "Good. We gotta move. Wells stay behind me."

Her son did exactly as Murphy said, staying glued to his back but making sure not to get under his feet as he walked backwards towards the cave, covering their retreat.

Monty and Bray grabbed each of Clarke's arms as they practically ran towards the entrance that Clarke could now just make out. It was smart, they wouldn't be able to outrun their attackers. And if any got past Lincoln and the other's they could thin them out through the small opening to the cave and make sure they were not overrun in numbers.

Murphy had always been quick on his feet.

It was a small five-foot incline that led into the cave. As they began their accent Clarke saw out of the corner of her eye a grounder standing just off to the side of them. A bow poised and ready in her hands. Murphy was faced the other way towards the main battle, not realizing that someone had skirted the edge to sneak up on them.

Clarke yanked her hand from Bray, startling the young girl, and reached into her boot. She grabbed the knife she kept there (having at least half a dozen more hidden on her person) and threw it. She caught the archer just under her extended arm, just where she had been aiming. The woman's position had not allowed Clarke a better shot. The wound she had struck should at least puncture the woman's lung. Without medical attention, it would be a slow and painful death.

Monty who had caught the tail end of her actions looked at the fallen grounder, mouth dropped open in awe. "Nice shot."

"Thanks," she huffed out. Her hand falling to a stitch in her side.

They finally made it to the cave entrance. It was a tight squeeze, having to go in single file, Monty leading the way.

Clarke was concerned when she realized that it was less of a cave and more of a crevice. The ceiling not enclosing them. The edges close enough to let light in but not far enough away that would allow someone to fit through. There was, however, an abridging hallway that seemed to unfortunately lead to another entrance.

Clarke turned to watch Wells and Murphy make it safely threw the entrance.

"No one's followed us yet. I think they're slightly distracted," Murphy told them, not turning his watchful eye away from the entrance.

Clarke felt another stitch in her side, it was sharp and piercing. Completely different from a contraction. She pulled her hand away when she felt it warm and slick. Looking down at it she saw the blood.

"Shit," was all she could say before she began to fall.

"Clarke!" she barely heard Bray exclaim.

"MOMMA!"

Just as she hit the floor she felt the top half of her body cushioned by something. She looked up into Monty's concerned gaze. She felt his hand travel to her wounded side.

"This is bad," he said needlessly.

Wells ran to her staring at the arrow that was protruding from her side. He began to babble in trigdaslang, as he often did when he was anxious.

"It's okay, sweetie." She went to run her hand through his hair but stopped when she realized it was covered in blood. Wells saw it too and dived into her. His small arms encircling her neck and clinging to her.

"Shit," Murphy came over echoing her previous words.

He helped Monty get her into an inclined position against a small boulder, Wells' grip not loosening. It wasn't comfortable, but comfort was not high on her list right now.

"Bray, get to work. Monty do everything she says. Wells," he tried to pry the young boy from his mother. Murphy knew he would get in the way in this situation. He was also afraid that if things should take a turn the young boy could witness his mother and unborn sibling die.

" _It's okay, baby. Mama's okay, the baby's okay,"_ she did her best to comfort her son. She was beginning to get light headed and her whole body had tensed like it was in the midst of a contraction but instead of being a wave, it was constant.

" _No, it's not. Daddy's not here! You're hurt! The baby's hurt!"_ He wailed into her neck.

Tears sprang to her eyes. He was right and she couldn't do anything about it. She turned to Murphy for help.

He ran a hand under his nose and blinked trying to cover his glassy gaze. He was worried too.

In less than a second, however, those emotions were gone, safely barricaded behind the wall that is John Murphy. And replaced with the cold calculating look he had learned to expertly craft.

He reached down and gripped Wells' shoulders, more roughly than he had ever treated her son before.

"Wells, I need you to go watch the other entrance," her son tried to stubbornly turn away from his uncle's harsh tone and back towards his mother, but John wouldn't let him. "Do you understand? If you're not watching the entrance then someone could sneak up on us! Go NOW!"

Wells looked at him then, contemplating his words. Clarke knew what Murphy said was possible, she had had the same thought herself. But she also knew it was highly unlikely that the grounders would find that entrance before they found the one they came through. The task was mainly to keep him busy and out of the way.

Still, Wells nodded. He looked so much like his father in that moment. A somber but resolute air about him.

"Good. You see someone coming you yell for me. Got it? And then you hide! Understand?" Wells nodded again, biting his trembling lower lip.

He turned back to Clarke one more time and kissed her on the cheek. Leaning in and whispering in her ear so only she could hear, " _Don't leave me."_

 _"_ _Never,"_ kissing him back fiercely. Even if she were to die this day she would never leave him. Clarke would be there to love him always.

Wells turned and took his post near the entrance, within sight of them.

Murphy gave her one last agonizing look before he turned and did the same.

Clarke turned to Bray who had been examining her. Her sure hands gently prodding around the arrows point of impact.

"Did it hit the baby?" Clarke was doing everything she could to detach herself from the situation like a doctor would. Only she wasn't a doctor, right now she was a just scared mother.

"I need you to focus on your breathing," she said avoiding her question.

"Bray."

"No, Clarke, you are the patient, I am the doctor. Now breath right," it was not in Clarke to be a passive participant in things, especially when it concerned herself and her family. If this had been only a few years ago she would not have been able to force down the wave obstinacy that rose within her. But she had grown.

Bray was right and Clarke needed to listen.

She closed her eyes and began taking measured breaths in and out.

Monty came around her side and kneeled down next to her.

"What do you need me to do?" Although, her eyes were still closed she knew he was talking to Bray.

"Help me take off her pants. Don't touch the arrow. I wrapped it for now. We'll worry about the baby first."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Baby first," Clarke forced out in agreement.

While undergoing their task, Monty whispered as quietly as he could, not quite enough though, "Is the baby okay?"

Her eyes peaked open looking at Bray who refused to meet them, "It's in distress, he's not getting enough oxygen, we need to get him out. I need you to take Clarke's pulse while I'm delivering the baby. If it gets too fast or too slow you have to tell me." Bray told him as she began spreading Clarke's legs and nestling herself between them. Monty had relinquished his jacket and she laid it down in front of her.

"How do I know if it's too fast or slow?"

"You'll now."

Clarke let out a groan as the pain worsened. It had been constant for some time now, but now it was spiking.

"Clarke, you need to start pushing."

She did or she tried to. She felt so week though and her whole body started to feel fuzzy. The pain was still overwhelming, she was simply unable to react to it the way she wanted.

"Clarke, push!"

"I'-I'm trying," the words came out slow and slurred. Her lips felt too puffy and heavy, making it impossible for her to form the words the way she wanted to. She could feel the blood drain from her face, causing her to feel faint and nauseous.

"What's wrong with her?" Monty asked panicked as he gripped her hand tight, she weakly returned it.

She could hear Bray respond but had trouble making out the words. Something along the lines of blood lose, and lack of oxygen and body function. Her head began to weigh too much for her to keep up so she tipped it back closing her eyes.

She vaguely felt a warmth surround her hand and then a snap. Pain followed immediately after causing Clarke to jolt up.

"What did you?!" Monty yelled.

Clarke's heart pumped fast and she looked around confused. What was going on?

"Broke her fingers," Bray's head was bent forward between her legs. "Clarke push."

Clarke did as she was told. Her limbs still felt heavy but the adrenaline pumping through her system gave her some of her control back.

"Why?!"

"Adrenaline boost," Clarke mumbled to her friend. He looked incredulously between the two women.

Clarke flexed her broken fingers, letting the pain pull her back into consciousness.

"Stop pushing. Deep breaths, Clarke."

Clarke could feel her child stretching her body to its limits. Felt the skin tearing slightly, the pressure he caused with his awkward position. It would not be long now, thankfully. She just had to stay conscious and… "Push, Clarke. Now!"

She expelled the air from her lungs in a sharp cry. It hurt so much. And she was so tired. She just couldn't do it anymore.

"I can't," her thoughts betrayed her. Expelling themselves from her mouth without her consent.

"Yes, you can. You have to." Bray told her mechanically.

"No, I need Lincoln. Lincoln should be here," she had always held to the firm belief that she would not have made it through her first bat at labor without her husband. He gave her strength when she felt all of hers go, as she did now. He kept her calm when she felt the panic rising at the thought of the baby getting trapped and being unable to breath. He whispered stories about their future child's life in the moments between the pain and strain. She needed Lincoln.

"I know, Clarke," Monty told her softly brushing the damp hair from her face. "But Lincoln needs you and the baby to be okay. So, he needs you to push." Monty's soft brown eyes bored into her own sharp blue and she felt a renewed strength fill her exhausted limbs.

When Bray yelled to her to give one last push she was ready. With that final thrust she felt the pressure in her womb ease completely.

She fell back against Monty and looked up towards the light the crevice allowed to peek through. Tears began to slip down her face. She didn't hear crying. She should hear crying.

Just when a wail of anguish threatened to burst from her, she heard a tiny cough and then high-pitched powerful cries. In that moment, it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. She sighed in relief and scooted herself up as best she could. Even as she reached for her child she could feel the numbness returning to her limbs. How swollen and stubborn they felt. Her vision began to dull and her eyes began to slip closed despite her refusal.

Still, she smiled when she felt the bundle placed in her arms.

"It's a girl," Bray told her as she focused on stitching up Clarke.

She looked down into the dark almost black eyes of her daughter. The spitting image of her father and brother, despite Wells' different eyes. She was perfect. The little girl still wailed but Clarke didn't care. Grabbing her angry fist with her fingers and rubbing it gently. Her daughter calmed slightly at the touch.

"Your daddy was right," she told her, although she knew she could not yet understand her mother.

"What's wrong with her? What is that?" she heard Monty's concerned voice come from beside her.

She frowned but didn't turn to him. Nothing was wrong. Her daughter was perfect.

But then she looked lower. On her daughter's leg was a deep gash, a steady flow of blood bleeding from it.

Clarke instantly gathered up some of the cloth Bray had placed her child in and used it to staunch the flow. It would need stitches and would leave a scar. She just hoped it wasn't deep enough to have any crippling effects. Her daughter whimpered in pain at the pressure and did her best to wiggle away but Clarke refused to let her, knowing it had to be done.

"The arrow must have cut her. It needs stitches but she should be fine. I'll take care of it when I'm done with Clarke."

"No, the blood. Why is it black?"

Black. What? Clarke wasn't thinking clearly. Everything felt slow. Her friend's movements. Their words. Everything.

Her daughter's blood was black? That was important. She just couldn't remember why.

At Monty's words though she was vaguely aware of Murphy stomping over.

Bray had moved from between Clarke's legs, closing them gently and stretching them out in front of her placing Monty's discarded and soiled jacket over her for modesty. She then maneuvered Clarke and the baby gently so that her side with the arrow still imbedded in it was exposed to her.

She was leaning heavily against Monty. The baby nestled between them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the blurry figure she knew to be Murphy reach them and roughly pull Bray away from her by the hair. He pulled her against him, setting a knife to her throat.

Monty attempted to get up, but couldn't with the weight of Clarke on top of him.

"Murphy, what the hell!" he exclaimed instead.

"Stay out of this, Monty!" he pressed his knife harder against the woman's throat.

"Wait! Stop! I won't say anything! I promise!"

"Can't take that chance," Murph answered coldly. Clarke couldn't react. Murphy was going to kill Bray. She should be telling him to stop. But a niggling thought held her back.

"You still need me!" that pulled the lethal man up short. He looked down at Clarke, to the lethal arrow still sticking out of her side.

"Murphy!" Monty yelled at the man in vein. He hadn't paid Monty a single glance.

"Momma?" she heard Wells' quiet call. He had not moved from his spot but he was turned to her in concerned. He had seen his father, uncle, and others from the village kill before. Not often, but it was unfortunately a more common occurrence in their lives than anyone would like. But he was confused, Bray was a friend and his uncle was going to kill her. Did she want her son to witness the death of a friend by his favorite uncle?

"John," his eyes went to her face instantly. "Take the baby."

She didn't wait for him to answer, merely holding out her child towards him.

Monty admonished her quietly beside her with a, "Clarke."

For a second, Clarke thought he would ignore her silent decree. But then he wavered. Lowering the knife from Bray's throat and gathering the newborn infant into his arms carefully, making sure to keep the pressure on her injured limb.

When he was right next to her, "We'll figure it out later. Take care of my children."

Bray's hand went to her throat, rubbing the angry red line he had bruised into her. Murphy turned his back on her, utterly unrepentant and went to Wells.

Monty looked between the two incredulous and began keeping a watchful eye on the eradicate and homicidal man, who was cradling her new born daughter like she was a precious treasure.

After a moment, Clarke cold feel Bray's ministrations. But her focus was on her children's first meeting. Wells squeezed his way onto Murphy's lap, careful not to jostle the baby, and stared down at his sister in wonder. He whispered something to Murphy and the man nodded. His little hand reached out and ran softly across her head, just as she and Lincoln were prone to do to him.

Clarke's eyes began to slip closed. She had fought it off for as long as she could, but unconsciousness was smothering her.

As the darkness overtook her completely she thought she could hear her name being yelled…


	11. Chapter 11

AN: So to start, my bad. In my mind it had been like two weeks since I last updated and then I looked and it had been over a month, and then I didn't have time to write and it was a whole thing.

Good news is this chapter is like hella long. Probably should split it in two, but I do what I want bitches.

BTW thanks for all the reviews, I'm glad you guys like the story and hope you continue to like it. Don't be afraid to throw any punches though. If you don't like something or have suggestions put them out there. I will most likely ignore you but it's important to speak your mind.

* * *

Chapter 11

Lincoln had learned his lesson. Trying to force his companionship upon Clarke had been foolish…and dangerous. He thought she would welcome the human contact, but instead she spurned it. She wanted to be left alone and when he had failed to comply she forced the issue.

He's not sure how he could have underestimated her.

When the sky people had first landed and he had spied her, he had originally thought her weak. She could not control Bellamy and the other members of the camp. They often disrespected her while simultaneously demanding her help. Which she gave without complaint. He had misconstrued that as a sign that she was soft. Helping them despite their contempt. His beliefs had shifted when he had seen her tireless actions, watched her mercifully kill one of her own people, and then protect the young girl against her entire camp, even though she had learned the young girl was the one responsible for killing her friend.

As any grounder would, Lincoln had mistaken compassion for weakness.

So, when Clarke had poisoned him, temporarily paralyzing him, he wasn't sure why he had been surprised. She was intelligent, resourceful, lethal, and hardheaded.

He had assumed that their _friendship?_ Would prevent her from acting against him. He was obviously wrong.

It had been rather ingenuous, the salve she lent him to help heal a gash he had received was actually a paralytic mixture she had created herself. It hadn't had any physically lasting effects. Psychologically, was another story. Lincoln had been trapped in his own body for hours. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, nothing. At one point his heart began beating so fast he thought he would hyperventilate and die but the balm prevented his body from reacting in the way it wanted to. Conversely saving him while also being the thing threatening to kill him. Not being able to suffocate should have been a comfort, instead it terrified him even more. He had not felt so powerless since he had been under the control of the mountain men and their red drug.

Notwithstanding her anger, he knew that had not been Clarke's intention but it had been the result.

In truth, he wasn't sure why he had followed Clarke after he had left Arcadia. At first, he didn't. He knew she had gone off months before, returning to Mount Weather to find her gone. Lincoln hadn't really expected her to stay there but when he returned to find her gone he panicked slightly. Not in fear for Clarke's wellbeing but his own. The night they had shared in Mount Weather had eased his pained soul, if only for a moment. Being able to sit and bask in the great artwork of others had reignited the believed dead artist within him. Lincoln had always preferred that aspect of himself. He was an artist by nature but a warrior by necessity. Life had brought him to the point where he had believed the two facets of his personality could no longer coexist.

But Clarke had given him hope that they could. They did for her. But when he realized she had gone he felt lost. He didn't know how to reconcile himself without her.

He had tried for months. Tried to bridge the gap that he had created with Octavia. Tried to force himself to get over the need his body still felt for the poison the mountain men had pumped through his veins. His anger and vulnerability at being under their complete control, like a mindless animal. Tried to pick up a sword once more and not feel like he had just picked up the weight of the world.

He tried. But in the end, he had failed.

Lincoln had left Arcadia, hoping that the memories and pain would fade away with the distance he put between them. Leaving Octavia had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do, but he had to leave. Leave before he resented her, even hated her, for not being able to help him, for wanting different things.

There was also the fact that he was an outsider. Many of the sky people looked at him with distrust. Lincoln had no illusions, he knew he would have to earn his place with them, just as he had with the 100, but there was a weariness in his bones that prevented him from making the effort. It did not help matters that with his every attempt to assimilate he earned Octavia's ire. She did not want him to be grounder, but she also did not want him to be sky people. It confused and angered him, he wanted a people, a nation, a home to belong to. He was not entirely sure what Octavia wanted.

Instead, Lincoln had left, wandering, not heading anywhere in particular, yet hoping he'd find what he was looking for anyway. He spent more time lingering on his journey than he had want to do. But some part of him hoped Octavia would still follow him. Eventually, he had forced himself to accept the fact that she would not.

After that, he had considered taking refuge with Luna and her people. He had always resisted before out of a sense of duty, not willing to sit on the sidelines while he was needed. Now, he resisted going there because although he respected their desire to be free of all the carnage many of their people thrusted upon each other. He had also always seen it as somewhat cowardice to stand by and do nothing. They weren't making things worse but they weren't trying to make them better. Lincoln did not want to be a part of that.

It was only then that he had chosen to seek out Clarke. At a loss of what else to do and with no desire to remain alone.

It had not taken him long to find her. She was careful but Lincoln was an experienced tracker and knew that despite her autonomy she would have to trade with villages on occasion. He also knew she was smart enough to know which villages to trade with. She, like himself, did not seem to be headed in any particular direction, just away.

A smart man would have stopped following her after she poisoned him. No one had ever called Lincoln a smart man, but then no one had ever called him stupid.

Well except for Indra. 'Foolish idiot' had been grumbled, barked, and stated to him more times than he could count.

Lincoln would have left her be, if only for her sake and not for his. But he had seen that she had not gotten any better in the months she had been on her own. Her eyes still held dark circles beneath them, she had lost too much weight, and her skin had a grey pallor to it only made more evident by her poorly died raven hair. He found her even more broken and lost then when she had left.

Lincoln believed he knew why. Clarke could not take the pressure of leadership any longer, it was destroying her, but at the same time she also did not know who she was, or even how to live, without the burden of other people being placed on her shoulders.

For the most part, he let her be. He had no doubt in his mind that she knew he was still following her, but she made no move to stop him. He watched her. Becoming more and more impressed with her survival skills as he did. Being from the sky, he knew living on the ground was an adjustment for her. What was an even bigger adjustment was surviving on one's own. In either case, she was doing it beautifully.

To trade, Clarke often hunted, seeking out game that was rare and would earn her much stock to trade. She was impressive, but she was also reckless. Showing disregard for her own safety. But Lincoln did not interfere, only watched in case he was needed.

It was only when Clarke traveled into villages, did he linger closer. She rarely did this, only doing so when she was in desperate need of supplies she couldn't make herself, which was admittedly rare. But it worried him when she was around others.

His fears had, unfortunately, been rewarded.

Lincoln had followed Clarke to a village she had visited twice before, since he had been watching her. It was both a smart and risky choice. The village was small and served more as a trading outpost, than an actual home to anyone. It was built on a main travel road, the only one on it. New faces weren't unusual there, even faces that they saw months between visits were normal. No one would pay any attention to a traveling woman, who passed through every now and again. This is, however, what also made it dangerous. Many of the people who frequented posts like this were dangerous. Some were traders or simple travelers, but then there were the hunters, murders, and outcasts. Desperate people who would do anything for money or food. If they even a tiny whiff that someone like Clarke was in their midst, they'd tear her apart just trying to get a piece of her. They might even attempt it without knowing who she was, thinking she was easy prey.

While Clarke was off alleviating her loneliness with a warm body, Lincoln was filling himself of much needed nourishment at the village's small tavern. Winter was almost upon them, so visitors were scarce, only those who absolutely had to make the trek across this road would.

Lincoln sat in a corner trying not to garner any attention. But he had already rebuffed the advances of a few fellow drinkers. He was no saint, and would not remain celibate forever, but he wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Not when he could still feel Octavia's fiery hands clawing down his body, her kisses all teeth and passion being almost forced upon him. No. He would need time before he could withstand the touch of another and not remember hers.

Two acquaintances sat at a table near to him, boisterous with drink and conversation. He mostly tuned them out. Discussing their journeys, families, possible hunting in the area. His attention focused in on them completely, however, when he heard the one man utter a name.

" _Wanheda,"_ the man with the large nose and plump face slurred out to his no chinned companion.

" _Who?"_

" _You haven't heard about the Commander of Death?"_ he laughed at his friend's ignorance, while he turned red and ashamed. " _The Sky Nation whore who destroyed the mountain men. There's a bounty on her head. Ice Nation queen wants her. But I tell you no bounty is big enough to get the whore to her alive. Everyone crazy enough to go after her will kill her themselves first."_

 _"_ _You'd think they'd go against the queen like that?"_

 _"_ _Wouldn't you? If you had the chance to Command Death?"_ no chin seemed to pounder it a moment. But Lincoln could already see the gleam in his eyes, the desire to be something more than the craven man he most likely was.

Lincoln had to hold back a scoff at the mere idea that one of these two men could kill Clarke. The only way he managed it, was by remembering that these men may not be able to hurt her, but others surely could and would most definitely try.

He was out of there in a flash. Knocking into the table the two men had been sitting at in his haste to leave causing them to yell at his retreating back. But no one else paid him any mind.

Lincoln swiftly made his way to the dwelling he knew Clarke to be spending her evening at. He made sure to stick to the shadows and remain unseen by anyone. When he was almost a breath away he sat back and watched. Making out the forms of three men lingering outside the rear entrance of the building, also hiding in the shadows. He cursed silently. On his way here he had been thinking that his saving grace had been the fact that the men had no idea that Wanheda herself was in this very village. But someone obviously did.

Unbeknownst to the other men, they waited together for Clarke to appear. When she did, Lincoln watched her peer cautiously around the doorway, the men being too far back for her to see. At the very least, it told him Clarke was not completely ignorant to this new turn of events.

As soon as Clarke stepped away from the door the three men were on her in a flash. One man holding a knife to her throat. One of the others gagged her and tied her hands. They began leading her towards the woods.

Lincoln had to keep himself from acting right away. He needed to be patient, attacking them in the village could draw attention and that would not be good.

His footsteps were silent as he followed them. When they were at least five yards away from the outpost Lincoln made his move. Climbing up the tree nearest to him, he jumped from one to the next until he was directly above them.

The one had removed the knife from Clarke's throat when they had entered the woods, and now lead the pack, with her being flanked by the other two.

Lincoln jumped and landed on the man to the left of Clarke, knocking him unconscious. The man in front reacted quickly, turning knife in hand and launching himself towards Lincoln. He fell back with the weight willingly and used the other man's momentum to roll them, while grabbing his hand with the knife in it and turning it towards his attacker. His actions allowed him to shove the knife into the other man's chest killing him. Lincoln sprang up prepared to attack the third man, only to see Clarke removing a knife from his thigh. Having cut an artery, making the wound bleed profusely, causing him to quickly bleed out.

Taking a second to free herself from her bindings, he watched her walk over to the last man who was just rousing. Still lying on his stomach, Clarke kneeled, her knee in his back, immobilizing him.

Holding the knife to his throat roughly, "Who else knows where I am?"

" _Fuck you, skaikru slut."_

"Wrong answer," Clarke said. Before Lincoln could blink she cut off the man's ear. His screams shattering the quiet around them.

"Who else knows where I am?" The man opened his mouth to speak with a defiant look on his face. "And before you answer, realize that this time I'll take an eye if I don't get the answer I want." She moved the knife less an inch away from his eyeball. Lincoln watched as his eyes filled with fear. But his resolve remained, not uttering a word.

Lincoln could see Clarke calculating her next move.

Lincoln had taken part in interrogations before. He had seen men break in an instant. But he had also seen them take days, sometimes even weeks to do so. They did not have the time for that. They should just assume someone does know and flee before they can find Clarke as well.

Before he could voice his thoughts, Clarke moved the knife to the back of the man's neck.

"Tell me what I want to know or I'll paralyze you and leave you here to die a slow maddening death. You won't be able to move, to fight, to eat, to end your own suffering. It'll take you days to die. Do you want that? To only be able to sit and wait while you slowly waste away to nothing. I could do that for you," she dug her knife into his neck causing him to let out a pained grunt. "The good news is you'll be able to scream."

Lincoln froze absorbed by the fear of what Clarke was threatening the man with. For anyone, especially a warrior, a death like that is the worst possible thing imaginable. He could see his own fear being reflected in their captive's eyes. Seeing when he finally relented so that he could earn a quick death.

"No one. We came for glory and instead found death." Clarke looked to him then. Lincoln gave a nod of affirmation judging the man's words to be true.

In agreement, Clarke sliced through the man's throat, awarding him for his cooperation. "I'm known for that," she told the man as the life spilled out of him.

Standing up straight she turned her back on him and began to walk away. "Thank you…Stop following me. I can't help you."

With those words, she departed into the night leaving Lincoln more concerned than ever.

…

It had been almost a month since Clarke had been attacked. Lincoln remained nearby as her faithful guardian, or stalker. Depending upon how one looked at, he was sure.

Her parting words haunted him, repeating in his head, in his every moment of silence. And since he was traveling alone, all of them were. _'I can't help you.'_ Is that all she thought she was to people? A means to an end, being used for what she could offer others.

By continuing to follow her, he was hoping to show her that he cared about her wellbeing and not simply his own. But this time he would wait for her to approach him.

Until then, Clarke had learned her lesson as well. She avoided villages almost completely now. If she had to stop in one she would never revisit it. It was smart but made for an even more lonely existence then she had been living.

Today, Lincoln was hunting. The familiar action made him feel comfortable. He had done this since he was a child, it was as familiar to him as breathing. His quarry was fox. Fast and wily it was a difficult task but not impossible. Lincoln only wished he had his bow. The string had broken some time ago and he had not the materials to fix it. Since Clarke had been avoiding villages he had as well. But he would have to go soon so that he could fix it. Even if it meant leaving her momentarily to do so.

Instead, he hunted with his spear. A fair alternative. The weapon fit perfectly in his hands, his callouses morphing around the object like it as an extension of himself.

The fox scurried its way up a large boulder, stretching it's neck out proudly believing he had escaped his pursuer. Lincoln let his spear fly, knowing it flue true the moment it left his hand. Just as it sunk into the creature, he heard it. A gunshot. It was faint, he could barely even hear it. But he did.

Lincoln took off at a run. He was about three miles away from where Clarke was camped. He just hoped he wasn't too late. He knew of only two people who used guns, the mountain men and the sky people. And there were no mountain men left. Which begged the question why were Clarke's own people presumably shooting at her.

It took him eighteen minutes, eighteen long minutes to get to where Clarke had camped. He had heard two more gunshots in that time. But she wasn't there. Lincoln started looking around for clues in a panic. Seeing her tracks, he began to follow them. Clarke had taken off, most likely running away from her attacker, who had pursued her. She hadn't made it far, less than a mile away and Lincoln could hear voices.

"This won't change anything," he could make out Clarke's voice. There was no fear or defiance, but acceptance.

"Maybe not," the voice of a man said. It didn't sound familiar to him but he did not carry the accent of a grounder, the words were too crisp and proper.

Coming into view, he saw Clarke on her knees, a man he did not recognize stood before her, his gun pointed at her. He cursed the fact that he had tossed his spear away before he heard the gunshot.

Lincoln did not even take a second to think as he dove at the man. A shot rang out and Lincoln was momentarily terrified that it had hit Clarke, but he couldn't take the time to check as the man brought the gun down and smashed it against Lincoln's head. Momentarily dazed, he flipped them over and hit Lincoln a few more times for good measure.

"Emerson!" he heard Clarke yell, relieved at the sound of her voice proving to him that she was still alive.

His head fell heavily back against the ground, blackening out slightly. The man, Emerson, pushed the gun against Lincoln's forehead, the weapon burned him for some unknown reason. Tensing at the expectation of a shot, he was surprised when he felt the other man's weight lift off him.

Hurrying to blink the spots out of his eyes he looked around and saw Clarke on top of the man, having tackled him herself. He could see her knife buried into Emerson's side.

In the struggle, the gun was knocked out of his hands. Twisting himself around he brought his joined fists down against the back of Clarke's head.

Her pained shriek helped to drag Lincoln out of his stupor, getting to his feet, blacking out momentarily. He scrambled for any type of weapon he could find. Diving and rolling, he came up with the gun raised and pointed at them. The weight felt odd in his hands, the cold steal rubbing against his calloused hands uncomfortably, nothing like the weapon he had carried before. Placing his finger on the trigger unsurely, as he had seen Bellamy do, the action feeling foreign and wrong.

Emerson yanked the knife from his side with an agonizing effort and turned it on Clarke. Lincoln watched as he dug the tip of it into the corner of Clarke's neck, right where her jawline met. All thoughts of the strange weapon in his hand falling away as a drop of blood rolled down making her wince.

"I wouldn't," Emerson said to Lincoln. His eyes intent on his every move. "She's not worth the trouble for starters. Murdering bitch!" He literally spat out, drops spraying out onto the side of Clarke's face.

The knife slides down an inch, carving deeper into her skin.

Lincoln twitches in response, eager to act.

"Ah ah ah, what I just say. You ever shoot a gun before," that question stills him. "It's not like shooting an arrow, or throwing a spear, yah know? It's completely different. If you're half an inch off you kill her and not me." Lincoln knew he was right. If he had held any other weapon in his hands the man would already be dead. But this thing, this gun, was something he had been taught to fear since he was a child. Something he had only seen used sparingly and to disastrous effect. The fear of hitting Clarke was too great. He didn't know what to do.

Their stalemate could not last forever. He could see the madness in the man's eyes. Just the thought of Clarke's death had him salivating. It wouldn't be long before the man realized that his loss of life was inconsequential if he made sure Clarke died as well.

"Lincoln," for the first time he tore his eyes away from the knife digging into her jugular and the man holding in it. Clarke was calm despite the situation. She was doing her best to control her pained breathing but he could see that every breath caused the knife to dig in deeper. Her hands clawed at the forearm Emerson had belted across her. "I trust you."

In one easy breath Lincoln's eyes moved back to the man, his finger pulling back on the trigger.

The force startled him, he dropped the gun and cursed as the skin between his thumb and pointer finger was pinched to the point where it bled.

When he looked towards where Clarke and Emerson had been, they laid flat on the ground still entangled together. His heart stopped. He killed her.

He ran towards them, a whine of relief slipping from his mouth.

A small whole lie in the dead center of Emerson's forehead. The relief coursing through his veins turned to dead when he saw the blood flowing across the man's chest. His eyes followed the line of blood and widened when he saw how the knife had dragged the rest of the way down Clarke's throat. The cut was deep, and so much blood was coming out of it.

He knelt, covering the wound with his hand. Clarke's eyes fluttered open. She attempted to speak but the movement and pressure he maintained on her throat made it impossible.

All Lincoln could think about was how much blood there was. A bright red against her pale skin, dripping endlessly over his dark hands. He was no stranger to spilt blood, but this was the first time since he was a child where his stomach churned at the sight.

He doubted his minor field training would be enough to fix this but he knew he would have to try.

Clarke attempted to mouth something to him. He shook his head, "I don't understand."

She repeated herself a few more times until he was able to make out the words 'my pack'. Understanding dawned on him. Clarke always carried a medical pack with her, always prepared for an emergency that would warrant her skills.

Acting quickly, he tore off a strip of his shirt and tied it as tightly as he could dare around her neck, not wanting to cut the flow of oxygen. Picking her up ungracefully, he did his best to keep pressure on her wound as he ran like a man possessed back to her camp.

By the time he got there he was huffing and puffing and covered in blood. Clarke had grown paler with each step he took and he could see her struggling to keep her eyes open.

Placing her gently on the ground he dashed to her pack, rummaging through it to find what he needed. Alcohol to disinfect, a needle, thread, and bandages. When he returned to her side, uncertainty gripped him once more. He couldn't do this, he didn't have the skill. He could kill her trying to save her.

As he stared dishearteningly down at his hands, full of supplies, and the blood cascading down Clarke's chest he had never felt more helpless.

Lincoln startled when he felt a cold wet hand latch onto his wrist. Flowing the scarlet dyed arm to its owner he met Clarke's resolute gaze.

This time he had no problem making out the words she mouthed to him, 'I trust you.'

Nodding determinedly, he sat the supplies before him and set to work.

…

"Stop it," her voice rang out to him like a sweet song even while she glared at him clearly annoyed. "You're staring…again."

It had been three days three days since Emerson attacked her. Lincoln was still marveling at the fact that she was still alive.

"I'm just still surprised I didn't kill you," Clarke snorted, wincing at the movement it caused in her sore throat. The wound was sealed. And Clarke assured him at the very least it was sufficiently done. But it was by no means pretty. Jagged and crocked, it would make for an ugly red scar when it finally did heal. Luckily, it would have no negative lasting effects.

"Like you could," was Clarke's quiet rebuttal. Lincoln smiled, for what felt like the first time in ages and managed to catch Clarke's own small smirk.

When Clarke had managed to get back on her feet Lincoln had assumed she'd send him away again. To his surprise she hadn't, instead she had assessed his own injuries. A small cut to his hand, the slight burn mark, the worst thing being the minor concussion he received from Emerson's repeated bludgeoning of him. She than began preparing a meal, shoving a portion into his hands when she was done.

He had stared at it wearily, sniffing it for any possible taint. Clarke had grabbed the bowl back from him and scooped a portion into her own mouth, chewing and swallowing. When she returned the bowl to him he consumed it gratefully.

That had been the start of a tentative peace between the two.

They traveled together. Lincoln would venture into villages for supplies while Clarke built camp a safe distance away. They rarely talked but each other's presence seemed to be enough of a comfort.

They began to take care of each other in subtle ways. Clarke brewed a tea, for not only herself but him, that helped them to sleep at night. Lincoln taught Clarke how to track, instead of just trap. They functioned as independent parts working towards a common goal.

The shame and rage Clarke had been carrying around her like a cloak began to dissipate, now she just seemed sad. He felt it was a great victory each time he could make her smile and get the occasional laugh from her.

Lincoln's own anxiety lessened as well. He had not known what to call it before, Clarke supplied him with the proper terminology when she had found him in the grips of what she called an anxiety attack. Lincoln had gone out hunting when the light had cast a shadow across the forest in a particular way making him think he saw a reaper. The phantom image had sent him into a spiral. His breaths came short and quick, his pulse seemed to beat in his ears, he couldn't think, the world around him seemed to shake. He had had episodes like this before but he had been careful to hide it from everyone, even Octavia.

When he had not returned from his hunt, Clarke went to find him. When she did he was curled in a fetal position trying, in vein, to control his breathing and make the world slow down.

She had forced him out of the position, moving him so that he sat, knees bent and head between his legs. Sitting behind him, she put her chest against his back and told him to match her breathing. He hadn't heard her at first but when he felt her slow steady breaths at his back his body naturally imitated the rhythm. When he calmed down enough he then heard her voice, "Breathe with me, Lincoln." Over and over again.

When they had returned to their camp Clarke explained what had had happened to him. Said just like fighting his addiction it would take time to work through. He had been through a trauma and his mind was still trying to adjust. After a process of trial and error Clarke had developed a medicine that would ease the anxiety he felt.

…

It was not all smooth sailing between the two, however. One night he had awoken to Clarke in a rage. Lincoln had been waiting for the storm to finally hit, and hit it had. She was throwing anything she could into the fire, screaming at the sky. He intervened only when she picked up a flaming log and began to smash it against a nearby tree. The flames scorching her hand and the sparks flowing back at her angrily.

Forcing it out of her hands and stomping it out, he restrained her in his arms.

"Let me go! Let me go, Lincoln!" Breaking free from his grip, she turned on him with such vitriol he was tempted to take a step back. "Why are you here?!" When he did not answer, "Why?! I can't help you, Lincoln! I can't even help myself. So, if you're here for me to save you, you're shit out of luck."

"I'm not looking for you to save me," And he wasn't. Maybe originally but he had come to realize it wasn't fair to her. And that he did not need anyone to save, he could save himself. It was just nice to have company on the journey.

"Then what! Did my mother send you? Or Bellamy? You can go home now, Lincoln. I'm not going back. I can't," the energy drained from her then and she crumbled.

Lincoln crouched down near her, keeping some distance away, so as not to spook her. "They did not send me. I am not here to take you back. I'm not sure you should go back. I am also not here, so that you will fix me. I am here, because like you, I have nowhere else to go." At his last words, she looked at him then. Her eyes glassy with the tears she was too stubborn to shed. "I want peace, Clarke. Something I know I cannot find with them."

"Peace is a fantasy," her tone was bitter.

"Maybe. But I seek it none the less."

"I hope you find it. But you won't find it with me either."

"Maybe."

They were both silent for a time, Clarke staring up into the stars like they held the answers both dearly needed.

"I'm not even sure I know what peace is anymore…Or even if I deserve it."

"You are not a monster," he wanted to dispel this illusion she had of herself.

"I'm not? I sicked a mob on a man I accused of killing my best friend. A best friend I had been treating like dirt for something he didn't do. Let a little girl jump to her death. Killed the man who loved me. Let hundreds of my allies die when I had knowledge that could've prevented their deaths. And committed genocide. I'm pretty sure that's the definition of a monster."

A beat passed, "Well, when you put it like that."

Clarke's eyes flicked to his deadpanned expression. Lincoln panicked at his ill-timed joke when he saw tears fill her eyes, only for her to release a boisterous laugh.

As she continued it became hysterical and her tears of laughter became tears of anguish as she began to sob. And just like the night outside Mount Weather he embraced her. She fought him as she did that night but he refused to let her push him away. Wrapping his arm around hers and running soothing circles against the other.

He let her sob uncontrollably while he whispered in her ear. Words his mother had long ago whispered to him. _"You are not alone. I am here. I will protect you. I will always be near. I will love you."_ When he had first whispered the words to her, his sentiment had been somewhat hollow, he had not truly felt their depth until this moment. He now meant every word.

He rocked her until she fell asleep in his arms. When he went to lie her down on her bedroll she had held onto him with a death grip. He laid down with her, stroking her hair when her nightmares disrupted her sleep.

The next day he awoke alone, to find Clarke gathering her things together, prepared to leave.

"Hurry up, I want to make it to the ridge today. Heard there were some caves there. Probably be a good place to spend the winter." She had not looked at him once, only glancing out of the corner of her eye.

Before he could answer she was off. He knew she was stealing herself in case he decided not to join her. He couldn't reject her this way. But Lincoln's resolve from last night remained, he would not abandon her. She had never abandoned him, saving him from a fate worse than death. It was time he repaid the favor.

Quickly, gathering his things he followed after her.

...

He and Clarke had taken refuge in a cave, close enough to a small village that they could go to for supplies, but far enough away from society that they would not be bothered. They had used the past couple weeks to begin preparing for the change in weather. Curing meat, gathering water, and furs. It kept them busy, their minds preoccupied.

Clarke rarely spoke about those they had left behind, but when she did it was absentmindedly. Like she had been thinking of them and the thoughts verbalized without her realizing it, concern for them being completely second nature to her. He usually let it pass without remark, worrying that drawing attention to it would force unpleasant feelings to arise if she realized what she was saying.

One day he couldn't, however, let it alone. Lincoln had been sitting next to the fire preparing snares and weapons for hunting while Clarke stood at the mouth of the cave staring out into the quiet forest, worrying at her thumbnail. He noticed she often did that when she thought of them.

"I hope they got the supplies from Mount Weather," she said flatly turning away from the entrance and taking a place near the fire, stoking the flames.

Lincoln paused in his work, while Clarke resumed hers, sewing pelts together for clothing and blankets.

Before Lincoln had left, the use of Mount Weather's supplies was a point of deep contention between himself and the sky people. He had advised Abbey against the use of the facilities provisions. He's not sure why he was surprised Clarke agreed with her mother.

That place was a graveyard, to more than one people. But it was also a place of power. Using the facility or even its goods, could be seen by grounder tribes as a play for that power, staking a claim over it.

"You want them to use their supplies," Lincoln said it without emotion but he could tell Clarke heard the silent reproach. She frowned and looked at him inquiringly. Silently, demanding him to give his position. She did that often, forced his opinion out of him when he would stay quiet for peace's sake. Abbey did it as well, but where Clarke always demanded it with a simple look Abbey spoke the words beguilingly. Lincoln preferred Clarke's approach, it felt more honest in away. He expressed his beliefs to her and sat in silence for some minutes as she took his words in. He appreciated that she always took his opinion into consideration, that she valued it, even when she disagreed with it.

Concentrating on her work she spoke softly. At first, he thought she was sharing a story with him, or rather some of her life experiences. But he soon realized what she was saying had more value than a simple story. "On the Ark, we had no way of making new things. We could grow food, and make some medicines with herbs and chemicals, but nothing else…Nothing new, ever. We couldn't grow cotton, or mine for the natural materials we would need to produce things, we could not even gather water." She took a moment to snap her thread with her teeth and began to tie off her ends. "Everything was recycled. Metals, plastic, clothes, water, even air. When people died their organs, what could be salvaged, were removed and donated to those in need. When their bodies were floated, they were stripped down, there clothes redistributed just like their insides had been. Even the people we executed weren't spared from it. We did not have the luxury of waste. Metals and plastic were used until they disintegrated from overuse. Clothes were worn until they fell apart, and even then, the pieces were used to form new ones. Water used to bathe with, even urine, was recycled and filtered back into the system. The air was stale form being continuously circulated for almost a century." Her intelligent blue eyes met his then, conveying the gravity of what she was trying to explain to him. "Possessions did not belong to the individual, they belonged to the people as whole. We did not have the option of sentiment."

She finished. She never once raised her voice or lost any sort of calm. But Lincoln could not help feeling like he had been lectured like an ignorant child.

"Since coming to the ground my people have done a lot of…adjusting. We were told that our ways were not your ways and that if we wanted to survive, wanted to be part of this new world, we would have to change, that we had to learn to understand and live your ways. Which is fair, this was your world first. But the whole time no one took the time to understand our ways."

Lincoln bristled at her use of 'my' and 'your', he knew she wasn't trying to put them at odds, simply acknowledging that they had different origins. He also knew she was right. He had believed the way his people had treated hers when they first arrived was wrong, simply because they were ignorant of this world and should be given a chance to acclimate to it. But he had never taken the time to understand their culture. They had been willing to learn, but his people hadn't.

"You're right," he admitted.

She nodded and began to look over her work critically. "As for the weapons," Lincoln tensed. "I destroyed them. All the information Mount Weather gathered on the Cerberus project, the reapers, the acid fog, everything, all gone. The only thing I couldn't destroy were the guns. But their stockpile wasn't as large as they wanted it to appear." Lincoln relaxed then. He was so used to being let down that he had expected the same from Clarke. He had to remember that this woman had never failed to defy his expectations. She had earnt his faith in her long ago.

A ghost of a smile graced his lips, as he stared at the formidable woman before him.

…..

Even with the warmth of the cave, the cold was proving to be difficult to bear. He and Clarke had taken to sleeping next to each other at night, sharing their body heat to keep warm.

So, when Lincoln awoke in the night, lost in the terrors of his dreams he instantly struck out against the body he felt hovering above him. Pulling his perceived attacker beneath him he wrapped his hands around their throat. Growling animalisticly as he stared into the savage eyes of a reaper. Teeth yellow, chin stained with blood, his stomach recoiled at the image. Remembering how he had once been the mere-image of the man he was now choking the life out of.

The reaper's hands reached out towards him, Lincoln prepared himself for the attack. Instead, the hands held his head softly between them, thumbs running comforting lines against his jaw. His fear and anger began to give way to confusion and concern. What was he doing?

The actions served to sooth his anxiety soaked mind. He loosened his hold on the man, not letting go, for fear he was being tricked. But there was something so familiar about the touch, and the blue eyes that had become less savage and more compassionate. Lincoln blinked a few times and watched horrified as the face below him transformed into that of Clarke.

Releasing her instantly, he shrunk away from her, forcing himself into a corner, hiding in shame. He heard Clarke cough a couple of times, and then pull greedy lung fills of air into her. He peaked out from between his arms, that were covering his face. Clarke was bent over, rubbing her sore throat, watching him with concern.

She was afraid of him. She should be. He could have killed her. But instead of fighting back, she'd done nothing.

Lincoln's mind was pulled back to another night of similar events.

He startled once more when he felt her warm hand on his arm. She pulled back slowly and waited for him to move, he didn't.

"Lincoln, it's okay. It was just a nightmare." She didn't sound afraid. Only worried.

"I could have killed you," he let out in a sob.

"You didn't."

"You didn't fight back. You should've fought back. I could have killed you!" He's not sure when the tears began to fall but they did. He had not cried since his mother had died. And here he was a seasoned warrior, a man grown balling like a baby. He couldn't even resist when Clarke pulled him into her arms, resting his head against her chest, as she hummed, her hand running up and down the back of his body consolingly.

When his sobs refused to subside, Clarke tried a different approach. Repeating the words, he had spoken to her not so long ago, _"You are not alone. I am here. I will protect you. I will always be near. I will love you."_

With each repetition, his breathing began to slow. He made no move to extricate himself from her comforting embrace.

"I attacked Octavia," he said suddenly. He expected her to shun him, or to stop her comforting muttering and stroking. But she didn't, so he went on. "I had a nightmare. I thought she was a reaper, just like I thought you were. Octavia punched me, finally managing to slam my head into the wall. I came to my senses after that. She looked at me like I was a stranger. A monster. Some feral animal ready to attack. I didn- I didn't mean-" his sentence was interrupted by his renewed sobs.

Clarke continued her actions and waited for him to calm, "It's not your fault, Lincoln."

He wasn't so sure. "I ran away. From her, from Arcadia, from everything. I hadn't realized where I was going until I ended up at Mount Weather and found you." He had seen the flames without registering them, and when he finally arrived he found Clarke passed out next to the smoldering ashes of her funeral pyre. He had taken care of her, cleaning her face slightly from dirt and sweat, tucking her into her bed, and making her food. He lingered out of sight and watched her for three days. She had worn herself ragged, now knowing, preparing supplies for her people to scavenge and destroying the mountain men's terrible weapons.

When she had shown him the art in thanks he had felt a renewed sense of hope. Returning to Octavia, prepared to grovel for her forgiveness.

She had quickly given it, but Lincoln could see the weariness that lurked in her eyes, her controlled movements around him, how she slept lighter and further away from him than before.

She had not embraced him as Clarke did now. His heart broke a little at the thought.

He waited for her to offer him meaningless platitudes about Octavia and himself. 'It wasn't his fault', 'she loved him', when she finally spoke her words caused him to settle completely then.

"I'm not afraid of you." Feeling the change in him she attempted a bit of humor, "Even when you were foaming at the mouth, I wasn't afraid. Slightly disgusted but not afraid."

He smiled and felt her own as she brushed her lips against his forehead.

Lifting his head to peer at her all levity was lost as his fast drained of color seeing the dark hand sized bruises he left on her throat. He was lucky they had removed the stitches two weeks ago, or else her wound would have reopened and she could have bleed to death. Seeing the pained look in his eyes, Clarke realized she was close to losing him again.

Moving quickly, she once again held his face in her hands. She placed light kisses across his face. On his forehead, cheeks, eyelids, nose, and finally his lips. Lincoln held tightly onto her forearms wanting to push her away but lacking the true desire and force to do so.

"I'm not afraid of you," she repeated steadfastly her eyes boring into his. She must have seen something she didn't like. Taking his hands, she kissed his scarred knuckles. The hands that had torn men to shreds, she kissed like they weren't eternally stained with blood.

If one were to ask Lincoln how it happened, he would honestly not be able to say. One second Clarke was kissing his hands and the next she was under him, both completely stripped naked.

Looking into her eyes unsurely, she pulled him down onto her, forcing him to take a dominant position, proving to him how unafraid she really was.

Their first time together had not been gentle. Lincoln had been apprehensive at first of hurting her, but she had pushed and lured the aggressiveness out of him. Letting him use their joining as a way of exercising his fear and anxiety. He could feel her doing the same with him.

When they finished he lied satiated in her arms, her holding him as she had done before in his turmoil. Lincoln's eyes closed exhausted, feeling the ghost of a kiss on his forehead once more and the words, "I am not afraid of you, Lincoln."

…..

They hadn't talked about it the next day, or the day after that, or when it happened again three days later. And when it continued to happen they continued not to discuss it. It was just a way for them to cope.

Discussing it would have made it something it wasn't. It worked for them, until one day it didn't.

Winter was beginning to ease away and word of _Wanheda_ had been dying away for some time. They had each decided it was safe enough for Clarke to start traveling to the nearby village more freely. Under the condition that she would remain close to him.

One could imagine his displeasure at that fact, that within five minutes of entering the village Clarke had left his side while he was haggling with a trader over the game they had caught. He had searched for her in near panic, when she appeared before him as if nothing had happened. They had returned to their temporary home, Lincoln in a fierce mode.

"Where did you go?" he questioned harshly.

"I had to pick something up."

"I thought we agreed that we would stick together."

"I was gone five minutes, Lincoln."

"Five minutes where someone could have recognized you."

"I am not a child."

"Then do not act like one."

They had descended into tense silence. Only broken when Clarke had thrown something in his lap. He looked down to see a journal of sorts. One he knew she had not had before. Looking up at her, he just managed to catch the piece of charcoal she threw at him.

"Draw me something," she demanded, taking a seat next to him.

He gave her a look that requested a 'please' be administered. She only jutted her chin and clenched her jaw.

Deliberating a moment Lincoln took the journal in his hand and ripped it, proceeding to then broke the charcoal. He could feel Clarke fight the urge to yell at him. Which gave him some amount of joy.

Handing her the half he had broken off and the page he had ripped out he waited for her to take them.

When she did, they each set to work.

Minutes or possibly hours later they both arose from their absorption. Folding their drawings over they exchanged them.

Lincoln was mesmerized by her drawing. He considered her skill to be impressive, even though he had not much to judge it against. He wasn't sure what she had drawn but he was in awe. It was a structure the likes of which he had never seen. Four large pillars bordered a building with a large dome on top, one large archway stood in the center, and before it lied a large pool of water in a rectangular shape. Lincoln had been to Ton DC and seen the crumbling structures and had imagined what they looked like but he had never been able to imagine something like this.

"What is this?" He asked Clarke. When he heard a sniffle, he turned to her and realized she was crying. That had not been his intention. Wrapping his arm around her hesitantly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, Lincoln. You didn't," she must have seen the skepticism that crossed his face because gave a watery laugh. "I love it."

Lincoln looked at his own picture which she was holding covetously. It was a portrait of Abbey. Bellamy had explained some of their history and he knew that they were not on the best of terms, but there was still much love there.

"You're very good," she told him.

"As are you."

When she caught him continuing to stare at his picture in wonder. "It's the Taj Mahal. Or it was. I don't think it's still standing anymore. It was in a country called India." Realizing he was enraptured by not just the picture but the information she told him all that she knew. "He built it as a mausoleum, a tomb, for his favorite wife."

"Favorite?"

"Yeah, I think he had seven." Sharing a look, they both began to laugh.

Lincoln had not felt so carefree in so long. He knew it was because of Clarke. She had a way of freeing him from the confines of his past without even trying. She was helping him to move forward.

That night when they had sex it was different. There was a tenderness there that hadn't been there before. They had become friends some time ago, but now they seemed to both be admitting to one another that they could be more. They weren't in love, not in the romantic sense, but there was the potential for it.

Lincoln was willing to explore that potential. Clarke, however, did not seem to share that willingness.

The next day the silence that they normally shared on the subject was tense and awkward. Clarke moved around him differently, did not look or speak to him in the same way.

His mistake was saying nothing.

…..

They had begun to move again, the weather permitting it once more. When visiting a new village Clarke had gone off with another man.

They had made no commitments to each other. Fidelity between the two easier done when their only company had been each other for much of that time. But now they were expanding out of their bubble. Lincoln had hoped what they had, even as just a coping, had been more to her.

He had consoled himself by partaking in an act he normally avoided. Drinking. To great excess.

His father had tended to drink on occasion, growing violent. He had not wanted to be like him so he rarely chose to imbibe intoxicating substances. But right now, he needed to not care and this was the only way he could think to do so.

He had kept to himself, not knowing how long he had been there and not carrying, but eventually he felt a hand at his elbow. He knew who it belonged to without even looking. He yanked his arm away, but had used too much force, his arm lashing out and knocking into his glass, causing it to tumble to the floor with a loud clutter. It drew the attention of the room to the couple.

"Let's go," Clarke whispered to him.

"I'm staying," he slurred out. He knew she wanted to avoid a public confrontation and normally he would as well, but he wasn't exactly in his right state of mind.

When she went to reach for him again he stood up, knocking his chair to the ground. He was by no means a rowdy drunk but the bartender could sense a storm on the rise.

 _"_ _You two, get out,"_ he growled at them.

Lincoln stood up straight and leveled off against the man. He wanted to start a fight, wanted to feel the skin of his knuckles split from the force of smashing them against the man's jaw.

But he didn't want that. Not really. That wasn't who Lincoln was.

He stomped out of the tavern. Heading straight into the forest, in the direction of their camp. Clarke trailed behind him, unsurely. He had never seen the woman act so timid.

"Lincoln?"

He didn't respond. How was he supposed to? He was embarrassed by her rejection. Hurt by her callousness. And he still couldn't help the certain pull he had been feeling towards her.

He could hear her frustrated sigh, "You knew what this was, Lincoln."

He stopped, placing his hands on his hips, tilting his head back to look up at the sky, he released his own frustrated sigh. Yes, he knew what this had started as, but he thought it had evolved into something else. He cursed his stupidity.

"Yes, Clarke, I knew."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she sounded truly regretful.

That sent Lincoln into a fit. "Well you did! But that's what you do isn't it? You hurt people! The people who love you get hurt! They die!" Turning to her, he could see the anguish he was causing but couldn't seem to stop himself. He was cruelly using the things she had confided in him, thoughts she had trusted him with. "Your father, Wells, Finn. It's a good thing Lexa betrayed you first or you probably would have gotten her killed too. Maybe I'm lucky that you don't even care about me enough, to give me the chance to love you." Lincoln finished bitterly.

"I can-"

"Stop, Clarke. I don't want to hear it."

Something in Clarke erupted then, just as it had in him, her pain turning to cold steel. Marching up to him she stopped less than inches away from him. Her smaller stature forcing her to look up to scowl at him.

"You had your turn. Now it's mine." He Prepared himself for a tirade, about how he had abused the trust she had placed in him. How she did not belong to him. And never promised him anything. She would not have been wrong to state those points. So, he was take off guard when she took a different turn. One that he thought was meant to hurt him as he had hurt her. He was wrong once again. "I can't love you."

His eyes dropped, pained. Thoughts of inadequacy plagued him. He had never believed Clarke to be cruel. He wondered if he had been misjudging her this whole time. Maybe she was the monster she feared she was.

When he felt her soft hand on his chin attempting to raise it he fought her. Reluctantly giving in as a resolve to stop caring about what she thought about him settled in.

"It's not that I couldn't love you, Lincoln. I could do that easily," she muttered the second part more to herself than him. Her words confused him and he waited for her to elaborate. He cursed the spark of hope that her words ignited in him, which only served to weaken his resolve to not care about her. "I can't. I just can't love you. I can't handle it. It's too much." She took a step away from him then needing space with her words. "The reason this works, me and you, traveling together, doing whatever we're doing. It's because we don't need each other. You don't need me to take care of you. Just like I don't need you to take care of me," he almost protested. "You know it's true. You are my friend, Lincoln." He was breathing heavily as she spoke. Each word sinking into his very skin. "I care about you. But we could survive without each other. We only stay together because we want to. But Lincoln, if I let myself love you as more than a friend, if you start to love me as more than a friend. We'll need each other. I'll start to worry about you. Your wellbeing. Your happiness. Everything. And I just…I can't _deal_ with that right now." Tears began to fill her eyes. Lincoln's anger had long since deflated, hearing her reasoning. It still hurt, but it wasn't as harsh a dismissal as he had originally believed. "I can only care about me. I know it's selfish, but I need to be a little selfish right now." Her own breaths had become labored with her irrepressible emotions. "Can you understand that? Please?"

Could he? He knew he could love this woman in front of him. This amazing, strong, completely shattered woman. And what's more, she could love him. For all his scars, inside and out, she could accept him for exactly who he was, where only his mother had been able to do so before.

He nodded to her, while silently deciding that he would give her time. He would quietly hold a torch until she was able to decide what she wanted.

Even if she could never find it in her to love him as more. He would not give up on her. She wouldn't give up on him either, he knew. If they never became anything more, then they would at least always have that loyalty.

He turned and continued to their camp, slowing so that Clarke was walking next to him this time.

The only words spoken between them was the all-encompassing, "I'm sorry," he uttered on the way. She nodded, but he knew he hurt her. She had hurt him. It would take time for them to breach that gap they had created.

Reaching their destination, Clarke handed him a decanter of water, telling him to drink or else he'd feel worse in the morning. He did as she said. His head was mostly clear from the drink he had consumed, leaving him tired and groggy. He plopped down gracelessly.

Clarke built up the fire, hesitating when she went to take her place next to him. He patted her spot by his side, coming to him then. He laid back, his whole body felt heavy, sleep would come easily to him.

As she laid down on her side, turning away from him. He played absently with the wisps of her hair. Until he grew too lethargic to continue the action.

He had almost been asleep when he heard her quiet admission, "I didn't sleep with him…I couldn't…Didn't want to."

He digested her words. Clarke was already beginning to care more about him than she wanted to.

With a sigh of relief, he turned onto his side, throwing his arm around Clarke he pulled her into is chest and burrowed his face into her neck. He felt her melt into him. The pain of the day easing slightly with each other's touch.

…..

Lincoln and Clarke had come to an agreement. They would only be intimate with each other, but remain no less or become no more than what they had been to each other before they had begun their relationship.

He was growing tired though. Not of Clarke, but of the travel. He wanted to find a place and settle down. But Clarke was still reluctant, even after he made it clear that settling down did not necessarily mean settling down with him.

It wasn't only that she felt she didn't deserve the chance at a happy life. It was an engrained fear that any happiness she found, any home she made could be taken away from her. She couldn't lose what she didn't allow herself to have. But Lincoln was not so afraid of losing something that he wasn't willing to try to have it.

He would force them to linger longer in villages, creating a repour with many of the people and even forming friendships. Only when Clarke was adamant would they move on.

They continued to hear the odd rumor of _Wanheda_ , but the most recent reports had put her south of their current position which was a relief to both. But Clarke continued to go under an alias, Thalia.

They were camped out one day, enjoying a normal day of chores when the heard it. A cry of pain, not far from them. Reacting instantly, they both took off towards the noise, armed just in case.

They found two young boys near a riverbed. One crouched over his companion, who lie sprawled out on the ground. They could hear the whimpers of pain, but could not see what was wrong, his friend blocking him from their view.

Lincoln surveyed the area, as Clarke did her best to assess the situation from their spot. When he saw nothing to fear he motioned her to move forward. Lincoln stayed ready as Clarke approached.

The crouching boy startled when Clarke came into view, she held her hands up pacifyingly.

"We're not here to hurt you." At the boy's weary look, Uncertain if he could understand her Clarke switched to trigedasleng " _I'm a healer, I can help your friend_." He nodded reluctantly. Lincoln could see it was out of a loss for what else to do than any real faith he had in Clarke. The boy was completely panicked, his face growing paler each time his companion whimpered.

Clarke moved to the fallen boy's other side. He was cradling his arm and at first, he wouldn't let Clarke look at it let alone touch it. But they could both see the blood seeping out from it.

" _What happened?"_ she asked, most likely as a way to soothe the scared boys by making conversation.

 _"_ _We were playing and he fell. I heard a crack and he screamed. He won't let me look at it."_

 _"_ _What's your name_ ," Lincoln asked surprising him. In his worry, the boy had not noticed him standing there. He tensed slightly but relaxed minutely when Lincoln kept his distance.

"Cyril." Inclining his head towards his companion, "Dom."

"Dom, _I need to look at your arm. I won't touch it, but I need to see what's happened_." When he did not move, she ran her fingers through his hair. Scared eyes met hers. She smiled at him, _"It'll be okay. Close your eyes if you have to."_

He nodded closing his eyes tight. She helped him to slowly move his uninjured arm away.

Lincoln grimaced at the new sight presented. The boy's, Dom's, bone in his forearm had split in half, one end having pierced through the skin, jutting forward.

Clarke's face remained impassive, she was used to blood and gore, as he was. But he was much more comfortable inflicting the wounds than healing them.

"Lincoln, I need you to get my pack," he knew she was talking about her med pack. But he was unsure of leaving her alone with the two strangers.

Cyril could see his hesitancy. He leaned over and whispered something into his friend's ear. He nodded and Cyril rose, inclining his head towards Lincoln. A silent gesture that he would follow him.

Lincoln and the boy moved swiftly not speaking once. He could tell the boy was taking the measure of him, he would not find him lacking.

He did not like that he would have to show the boy their temporary home, it made them vulnerable. He and Clarke would have to move on as soon as possible after she helped the other one.

When they returned, Dom still had his eyes closed and was ghostly white. The pain getting to him.

He handed Clarke her pack she sorted through it and got what she needed.

"Lincoln, find me two sticks, about the length of this forearm and no thicker than your wrist."

Once again, he did as she asked, bringing them to her obediently.

"Dom," his eyes parted slightly only looking at her. _"I need to reset the bone. It's going to hurt."_ He nodded his understand, biting his lip to prepare for the onslaught of pain. Cyril knelt next to him and took his hand. Clarke grabbed his injured arm firmly in her own. _"On the count of three. One…,"_ the crack of the shifting bone was drowned out by the boy's scream. Tears began to fall from his eyes, but he did not make a sound. _"I need to put a few stitches in your arm."_ As she began, pained grunts began to come from him. Lincoln saw that his grip on his friend's hand was bone breaking. It was only a few stitches, but after everything it seemed to put him over the edge. He passed out.

He could see the relief in Clarke's eyes when he did. She splinted the arm and wrapped it in bandages. When she was done she looked at Lincoln.

" _Where's your village,"_ he asked Cyril.

 _"_ _Not far, I can take him,"_ the boy was smart not to trust strangers easily, even if they had just helped him. But Lincoln knew the boy would not be able to carry his friend himself. Dom was larger than him, not by much, but by enough.

Lincoln guided Clarke out of the way, he scooped the unconscious boy up into his arms.

Cyril protested, taking an aggressive stance, calculating how best to get his friend back.

 _"_ _Lincoln,"_ Clarke started unsurely.

He shook his head, _"You can either guide me or I can attempt to follow the trail you two made. The latter will take longer, and your friend is still hurt."_

His words sunk in and the boy began to guide them back to his village. It was growing dark by the time they reached it and Lincoln knew that their families would be concerned with their lack of return at the late hour.

Lincoln would occasionally meet Clarke's concerned gaze. He knew she wanted to help Dom, but there was a danger in this. They were strangers carrying an injured boy. Many could easily misconstrue the situation.

He had been right, when the village came into view, he could see a flurry of active. Men and women gearing out to search for the missing boys. They stopped when they became aware of the coming party.

"Cyril," a man screamed. A tall thin man came out to embrace the young boy while keeping an eye on himself and Clarke.

"Dom!" a woman screamed and rushed Lincoln. "What did you do to my son?!"

Clarke stepped in front of him protectively when it appeared the woman would attack him. A wave of alarm rose within him at her placing herself between him and the danger.

"We didn't hurt him," Clarke tried.

"Liar! Look at him! What did you do?!"

"Helen," Cyril extracted himself from his father and stood in front of the woman and her wrath. "They didn't do anything. We were playing and he fell…his arm…She helped him. They helped him."

The woman calmed but still looked on at the strangers distrustfully.

"Bring the boy here," a woman spoke from within the crowd. They parted for her, revealing a plump, older woman, with dark greying hair. She turned and expected them to follow. Clarke, himself, and the boy's mother went where she led.

He noticed how the woman walked holding herself with a certain amount of esteem.

She led them to a small hut. There was a bed and herbs and instruments. Lincoln had been in similar huts as this over the years, places where healers would practice their craft. The woman gestured for him to place the boy on the pallet. He did and stepped back. Clarke had taken up a slightly territorial spot near her patient. She had told him once that the grounder healers she had met did not inspire her with much confidence. She didn't think they were all like that, but he knew she was being careful until she could get the measure of the woman.

The village healer began to lightly prod the boy's injured arm, eyeing the work critically. When she was done she gave the boy's mother a quick reassuring nod and then turned her dark eyes onto Clarke, studying her.

"You have skill. You are a healer," It wasn't a question but Clarke answered with a quiet but firm 'yes'. "I am Atha. Why did you not give him barro root?"

She said nothing for a moment weighing her answer, "I don't know what that is." She said only loud enough for the woman to hear.

Atha's eyes ran over Clarke again and flitted over to Lincoln studying him as well. He tensed, realizing what she had recognized. She saw Clarke for what she was, _skaikru._ Clarke must've realized this as well, because she backed up until she was next to him. Luckily, the other woman, Helen, was preoccupied with her son.

Atha approached them. They waited for her next words with baited breath. "Barro root is a pain reliever," she picked something up and handed it to Clarke, who studied it slightly perplexed. "I will show you where to find it. It is very common in these woods. You have great skill, but there is much you need to learn. I will teach you."

Lincoln bristled hostile, he was still not ready to trust the woman, especially with what she knew.

Atha noticed his aggression, the tension between the two was palpable, as Clarke stood absorbed with the new item to take notice. It broke when Atha let out a chortle and tapped Lincoln's shoulder comfortingly.

"Relax. You and your woman are safe with me. I have waited many years for a proper apprentice, I do not care where she comes from. You will stay with me for now." With that the decision was made. He and Clarke left speechless.

…..

Wells' soft humming began to settle his wailing sister, aided by Lincoln softly rocking her back and forth. She was beautiful. She looked like him, but he could see Clarke in the shape of her face and her slightly fairer complexion to that of himself and Wells.

He had always wanted to be a father but he had not truly understood what it meant until he had held Wells when he was first born. It was as if the world had finally given him the answer to its greatest secret. He felt it once again, as he held his daughter in his arms.

Wells laid curled up next to his mother's unconscious form. It had been three days since their daughter was born and Clarke had still not awoken. Bray assured him that it was simply her body healing itself. But he couldn't help but be concerned.

Wells wanted his mother. He had told his father in a broken voice about how he failed to protect her, failed to protect the baby. Instead of using words to reassure his son that he had done nothing wrong, he placed his sister into his arms. It only took a minute before she began to smile up at him, all gums, and reach out for him longingly. Gathering both his children up into his arms he spoke in a warm voice.

"She doesn't seem to be upset with you," he smiled until he looked over at his mother. "Mothers and fathers protect their children. Not the other way around, _yongon._ " He was not convinced, he would not be completely so until his mother awoke. She had a way of breaking through to the stubborn men in her life.

He needed that now. He, also, felt like he had failed her, failed his family. He left her side to eliminate the threat and in his absence his family had been hurt. He needed Clarke to wake up. If he lost her…

No. She was strong. She would not leave him. She promised.

The others had been growing restless. The conclave growing closer by the day. Bellamy and Monty had stood with himself and Murphy, when they had demanded that Clarke be given time to heal. But they would not wait forever.

He fingered the bandage on his daughter's leg lightly.

Murphy had appraised him of his daughter's nightblood status as soon as he was able to tear himself away from Clarke, Bray having repaired the damage as best she could. It was a grave concern, but one that had to be placed on the backburner until Clarke awoke and they decided what should be done, together.

One thing was for sure, no one would be taking their child from them.

Since then, however, John had taken up the task of acting as Bray's second shadow. He had barely left her side. The others had yet to notice, sans Monty who had witnessed what occurred between the two. But if it continued for much longer they would. His friend was afraid that the young healer would tell Indra and Aden.

Murphy had been there when a nightblood in their village had been discovered. Atha and Clarke had birthed the baby themselves. _Heda_ had issued a mandatory blood test to be issued to all children at the time of their births. When the test had come back positive the village leader had sent word to Ton DC about the child. Troops had arrived only months later to take the baby. The parents had been utterly heartbroken at the idea of never seeing their child again. Clarke, Murphy, and himself were forced to stay out of the matter entirely, afraid of bringing attention to themselves. The parents had left the village not long after, moving to Ton DC in the hopes that they would get even a fleeting chance to see their child again.

Clarke had felt responsible. She and Atha had discussed ways of cheating the test after that. Atha was a good woman, she was against the practice as much as they were. Others remained faithful to the _Heda_ and her decree.

At least, Monty would not say anything. Lincoln had spoken with him. He was confused but he swore to keep silent when Lincoln informed him that telling anyone about what had occurred in the cave could put Clarke and the baby in danger. He promised to explain everything when Clarke awoke.

Once again hanging every potential decision on an event that might never come.

He even had neglected telling the others their daughter's name. He and Clarke had decided on a name for a boy and a girl long before the birth. It felt wrong sharing it without her.

Wells soft voice pulled him from his thoughts, _"You are not alone. I am here. I will protect you. I will always be near. I will love you."_

He was surprised by his son's words. He and Clarke would say the words to each other when they truly needed to hear them, but they had rarely felt the need to say them to their son. Their actions and words never left any doubt that they would always be with him and love him. Lincoln hadn't realized his son had overheard them say them to one another and understood their importance to them.

 _"_ _I love you too, my little warrior,"_ he thought he imagined it at first. But when his attention focused he saw Clarke's hand rise slowly and brush through Wells' hair. Wells smiled brightly at his mother and laid a kiss on her cheek.

Clarke gazed at him for a moment with abandoned love in her eyes, before they shifted to the now still bundle in his arms.

Lincoln once again placed his sister into Wells' arms and moved to help Clarke sit up. Settling behind her so that she could recline against him. When she was ready she gathered Wells and the baby, pulling them into her chest and wrapped her arms around them tightly. Her head resting beneath his.

He could hear the others taking notice, moving to watch the family reunion, but they ignored them.

"Hello, Gwen my love."

As Clarke began to hum, rocking their children his eyes fell shut. For the first time in three days he could breath.


	12. Chapter 12

This is not a chapter. This a scene I forgot to add to the last chapter, but I didn't want to post it without having a new chapter ready, because that would just be cruel. This would have taken place between the final scene where Clarke wakes up and the scene before that where Clarke and Lincoln arrive at the village and meet Atha. I think it just rounds things up a little bit better.

* * *

Chapter 11 Missing Scene

Clarke was dragging Lincoln by the hand through the village. At first, he had tried to find out what her intention was, but she had steadfastly ignored him, the only sign of her having even heard him was the tightening grip of her had around his wrist.

He assumed this little adventure had something to do with the talk she had had with Atha yesterday. They had been here for almost two months and the villagers had slowly been warming up to them. He began envisioning a life for them here, a haven from all the turmoil they had escaped. But he could sense Clarke's unrest. She refused to warm to anyone beyond Atha and a few children she had treated. Lincoln had refrained from going off to hunt. Clarke believed it was done in effort to keep an eye on her, making sure she didn't run at the first chance she got away from. But he was long past those doubts. Even if she did run he would follow her knowing she would want him too. Even if she couldn't admit it.

Truthfully, he was just happy to have the opportunity to simply be with her, to not have to move from place to place, to not need to put so much effort into their daily survival. To just be still.

Even when they were living in the cave they had not been afforded the same opportunity for such carefree interaction, especially since their relationship had not been at that point yet. Now they conversed easily. About their thoughts, their likes and dislikes, fears and dreams, both past and present. Being able to connect with someone as he did Clarke made him feel lighter in a way.

Lincoln gravely feared what leaving would do to their growing bond. Returning to the rougher lifestyle they had been living could put a strain on them. Or it could pull them closer together. He preferred not to take the risk.

In the days since they had been here, Lincoln had spent many nights whispering reassurances to her as they lay tangled together at night. Trying to convince her that this could be a good place for them to settle.

As the weather warmed it permitted them to lay out under the stars at night rather than stay in Atha's hut which they both preferred. The other night as they lay, the brisk night air cooling their overheated bodies, he absently tracing patterns on her bare stomach as her eyes began to flutter shut, he couldn't help but try once more.

"We could stay," he stated. His eyes lifting from his traveling fingers to look at her face, her once drowsy eyes now wide open. Even in the dark he couldn't miss the flash of yearning in her eyes, even as it was quickly overshadowed by fear.

She was quite for a long time after until her own hand lifted to cover his and she turned to him a sad sigh escaping her as she did.

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because I'm _skaicru._ Because I'm _Wanheda_. Because I've killed a lot of people. Because they won't trust me, and I won't trust them." The frustration poured off her in waves.

What she was refusing to say, was that she was scared. Scared they would reject her. Scared that they would turn on them. Scared that she would come to care for these people just to have them be taken away from her. But most of all she was scared of their expectations. That they would come to need her, and she would be called upon to do things she wished she couldn't but knew she could.

"Trust must be earned, Clarke. This is a quite village. The people here want nothing but peace and there is no reason why they wouldn't have it." She opened her mouth to protest, most likely to argue that she would ruin it, but he stopped her before she could. "You believe that you will affect them, have you considered that they may instead affect you." She pondered this, her brow still furrowed in doubt. "Clarke, you are entirely too over sure or your own importance." She gave a slight huff of indignation, but he could see the slight upturn of her lips. He knew he was one of the few people to ever diminish her significance. "You are extraordinary. Smart, brave, cunning, a natural leader" he couldn't help but give her a quick kiss as she flushed, embarrassed at the praise. "But you can choose to be insignificant. You can choose not to be more here and just live."

It would not be an easy thing for her to do. It was in her very soul, the need to lead those around her. But this world had taken that need and burned her with it. She had an impossible decision in front of her. She could not be happy while being who she is, at least not completely, but if she denied this one part of her being she might have a chance to be so. Something would always be missing but maybe it was a piece she could live without.

"Insignificant huh. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

They smiled warmly at each other, "Just trying to keep you grounded."

"Well my ego thanks you." She kissed him then, staring deep into his eyes. The doubt slowly seeping back into them.

He sighed resignedly, admitting defeat…. for now.

Laying back and pulling her close, her head resting against his chest.

The next morning, he asked Atha to speak with Clarke. He had hoped a more distant point of view on the matter would help convince her. He knew from experience that it was often harder to hear the people who were closest to you.

Now he was only left to wonder what effect Atha's word had on the woman in front of him. She was dragging him to the edge of the village. They received many curious stares as they did, some smirking at him knowingly. He wished they would enlighten him on what they knew.

As soon as they reached the edge of the village she stopped abruptly. Bumping into her, he steadied himself, placing his hands on her hips. She stared off into the clearing expectantly turning to him and giving him the same look. He dropped his hands and looked around, trying to decipher what she was trying to tell him. It was a beautiful spot. On the outskirts of the village, so it was quiet, the forest receding into itself just enough to offer a more tamed spot of wilderness but close enough to provide some coverage. Yes, he saw all of that, but he still didn't see what she wanted him too.

He continued to give her a bewildered look.

"Here," she said so definitively that he really had to question how he didn't know what she was talking about. "Here. I want to live here." Lincoln had not been moving but at those words he even stopped breathing, going as still as a statue. He looked at her, his eyes round and earnest looking like an excited child. A description Clarke had bestowed on him after one too many puppy-dog looks as she referred to them. Her determined look melting away into a wide grin.

Lincoln pulled her into his arms spinning her around relived laughter pouring out of both. Placing her on her feet he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her desperately. Her own hands curling around his forearms as if to keep him in place. He could feel the smile on her lips as his brushed over hers.

Finally breaking for air their arms encircled each other, evaporating any distance between them. Clarke's clasped hands resting on his lower back, her head tucked under his chin. Every few seconds Lincoln would turn his face and kiss her temple.

In all the excitement he had been slow to realize, but when he did he slightly eased himself away from Clarke, so he could look at her.

"Clarke," she looked at him confused but still with a slight smile on her face. "You do know who lives right next to this spot, right?"

She gave a throaty laugh as seen leaned in and quickly captured his lips. "Yeah, I know."

"And you want to build our home next to a man who hates you?"

With a mischievous smile and shrug, "It'll keep me grounded."

Lincoln could only laugh. This woman would be the death of him. But it was too late for him to be able to live without her.


	13. Chapter 13

A.N. It's been awhile, I know. I won't make you empty promises where I'll say I'll post more regularly. No, I will post when I can. I do apologize for any lengthy periods of inactivity. The only thing I can promise is that I will definitely finish the story. Because I as a reader, am haunted by the stories I read on this site and become so immersed in only for them to go unfinished. It's cruel and a little sadistic. I'm more of a masochist.

A couple things. One, I have come to realize that Tondc (what I thought was the capitol) and Polis (the actual capitol) are two different places. I don't really care and it doesn't really matter, I'm still going to use Tondc as the capitol, but I want everyone to now I am now aware of my error. Secondly, I've been spelling Arcadia wrong, actual spelling Arkadia. Still don't really care, but the more you know, etc.

This chapter is from Bellamy's perspective. Doesn't have as many feel good family moments as I would like, but I think it helps move the story along so that the plot can progress because I honestly feel like it's taking forever for this to get where I want it to go.

* * *

Chapter 12

Traveling with a baby was surprisingly easier than traveling with a pregnant woman. Bellamy knew that probably wasn't true in most cases, but with Gwen it was. The kid was like freaky good. She actually reminded him of Octavia, something he had mentioned one night, using it as an opportunity to recall stories from her infancy to embarrass her. It ended for him with a knot on the head after she threw a pot at him. Worth it. But Gwen rarely cried, ate without a fuss, she didn't sleep through the night but who could expect her to.

Even now as they trumped through the forest she was perfectly at ease nestled against her father's chest in a sling. One child strapped to his front, another clinging to his back, his tiny head peaking up over his shoulder so that he could look down and make faces at the content baby below. Bellamy winced seeing Wells' tiny fists unintentionally digging into his father's throat, who never uttered a word of complaint or even seemed bothered.

Clarke would glance back at them every few seconds as she walked ahead of them in deep conversation with Monty and of all people Aden, throwing them a loving smile each time. After she had woken up she had allowed herself three days to heal and immerse herself in familial bliss. After those three days she went back to being the Clarke he knew. He was sad to see the new Clarke go. Though he would still get glimpses of her, letting him know they hadn't lost her completely. Like in her constant need to reassure herself that her family was near and safe. Or how at night after a long day of travel she would shed her tough exterior and either help cook dinner with her son and husband or sit with them near the fire humming to Gwen or telling Wells stories. It was a balance that she was doing her best to master.

Glancing once more at Lincoln, Bellamy finally felt the need to take mercy on the poor man. Walking up behind Lincoln he reached out and grabbed Wells around the middle. The boy protested for only a minute before he calmed as Bellamy settled him on top of his shoulders staying near enough so that he could still keep an eye on his sister. Being a big brother himself, he knew the feeling.

"Let's give your old man a break."

Lincoln only glanced at him, giving a slight smirk of thanks.

"You excited to see Arcadia?" he asks, glancing up to catch the young boy's eye.

"I guess."

"You guess? You're not excited to see all the cool stuff we have?"

"What cool stuff?" Wells asks, interest tinging his tone.

"Well, the farm houses for one. They go on for yards. Big glass houses that we grow our food in."

"Why do you do that?"

"So, we can control the environment, we don't have too worry about it being too cold to grow them, or too much or not enough rain."

"That's cool."

"And you'll get to see the Ark."

"The Ark? Momma said it got all broken up and destroyed when it fell from the sky."

Bellamy nodded, jostling him slightly, "Most of it did, but a piece of it is still standing. We use it as a kind of base of operations." At Wells' confused look. "A meeting house. It's a lot different than anything you've probably seen. Made with all metal, no stone or wood, completely smooth."

"Can you still see the stars from the windows?"

Wells' question causes him to pause. His life hadn't been exactly pleasant on the Ark. Which is true for most, but it had some view. He feels a moment of wistfulness at the memory. Seeing earth big and blue with an aura floating off in the distance, surrounded by a see of stars.

"Not like before. Only at night, when you look up through the windows."

"Will I ever get to go to the stars like you and momma?"

Lincoln who had been listening to their conversation shares a look with Bellamy. There was a time the idea of traveling to the stars was a mark of courage and intelligence. An adventure to travel beyond the known. Then it had become an escape, the only way of surviving a failing world. Finally, it had become a prison as much as a salvation. Its inhabitants stuck in an environment that prevented progress. Having grown up in that world, Bellamy could not stop the churning of his stomach at the idea of ever needing to go back up there. He hoped that one-day society would once again evolve to the point of space exploration as a sign of scientific advancement. But he also hoped he was long dead when that happened.

"Hopefully you'll never have to," Bellamy said too quiet for the young boy to hear. "We also have some pretty good music," he mentioned attempting to change the subject.

"We have music. Daddy sometimes plays the drums at festivals."

Lincoln smirks at the pride in his son's voice.

"Does he? Good, he can teach Daisy."

"Ugh no!" Monty bemoans from in front of them, having heard the tail end of their conversation. "She's already driving me and Rae insane, she does not need encouragement." Bellamy laughed at his friends suffering. Monty knew he loved that little girl like she was his own, would give her the world if he could. But he had also heard the near constant banging coming from their house since the little girl had become enamored with the instrument almost a year ago.

"If Linc teaches her at least it wont just be banging," Bellamy argued on Daisy's behalf.

"I would not mind teaching her…When we have a chance." The potential teacher in question said while sharing a look with Clarke.

Bellamy thinks he knows what it means. He's telling Clarke he won't mind setting down roots there. That their life could continue. He sees the appreciation in Clarke's eyes but also sees the weariness as she glances over her children. In her mind Arcadia is a place of constant war. She had never been there in a time of peace, never had time to realize a life could be made there. But one could be. He and the others had lived there for the last seven years. Had done all they could to make sure it was a place where people could live and have families, feel safe. They had been relatively successful for most of that time.

He wishes Clarke could have been there to make it that kind of place with them. That she didn't have to run away from everything she knew to find that. But he also knew that peace would not have been as easily made with her. He hates to think it, but if she had stayed, others would have been drawn to the legend of _Wanheda._ Clarke had a way of making enemies. Only offset by the fact that she had a way of saving them.

Maybe this time she could save them and stay with them.

…..

Bellamy watched as Clarke sat down next to him at the fire. She had just finished putting Wells to bed and feeding Gwen, the two now sleeping soundly not five feet from them. He was glad she did, they needed to talk and there had not been much chance for the two to talk candidly in the last couple weeks of the journey since the baby had been born. Now would probably be the best time for them. Indra was on watch, Aden, Monty, and Bray were already asleep, Octavia was sharpening and cleaning her weapons on the other side of the fire, despite the lack of need, and Murphy was doing his creepy stalker thing over the sleeping healer, Lincoln sitting off to the side sketching quietly.

After Gwen had been born and they had made sure Clarke wasn't about to bleed to death. Monty had furiously whispered to him what had occurred while the others were outside. Bellamy hadn't known what to think at first. He was not exactly Murphy's number one fan, but he also knew that the man had only ever responded violently when he had felt threatened or wronged. He was a bastard, but not without reason, however warped or selfish that reason may be.

And what Monty had told him about Gwen's blood worried him beyond belief. He wanted to ask Indra or Bray, but Murphy and Clarke's reactions to it prevented him from doing so. Despite not liking it, he knew he would need to wait to find his answer. Bellamy had told his friend to keep it between them, until he could talk to Lincoln or Clarke about it. But when a day passed with Clarke still unconscious and Lincoln still laconic with worry, he hadn't felt right asking the man.

In that time, Bellamy was forced to impatiently watch Murphy hover around an anxious Bray. He also noticed the significant glances John would share with Lincoln, whenever she got too close to the other members of their party. Letting him know, that whatever was going on was not just John's psychotic delusion. The actions were subtle, one who wasn't looking for it wouldn't notice, but they were not traveling with idiots. Soon enough the others would notice the threes strange behavior and Bellamy wanted to know what was going on before that happened. So, he confronted the only one he could.

Bray was looking over Clarke, changing her bandages, checking for infections. Using that as an opportunity, knowing the man would only feel comfortable stepping away from his prey if Lincoln were watching over her, he pulled John Murphy aside.

"What the hell's going on, Murphy?" John had been wearing the same dark look since everything had happened, like he was steeling himself for what he might have to do.

"None of your business, Blake," he went to walk past him, shoving roughly into his shoulder but Bellamy stopped him.

"Monty told me. So, I know something is going on."

Murphy cursed under his breath, "Who'd you tell?" anger evident in his voice, but also concern.

Bellamy shook his head, "No one. But I need to know what's going on if I'm going to help," Murphy said nothing, studying Bellamy. "John, you and I might not get along, but you know I'll always protect Clarke."

John nodded reluctantly. "Do you know what a nightblood is?"

"Aden's been referred to by that, but I've never asked what it meant. Didn't really care."

"That makes sense," at his confused look John elaborated. "Some grounders their born with black blood. It's weird, I don't really get it. But they're important. Only a grounder with black blood can become the commander. When Lexa came into power and united the tribes she made a law that any nightblood born would be taken to her at the capital."

"Away from the parents?" Murphy nods. "What if they refuse?"

A haunted look passes over the other man. "If you're lucky they just kill the family."

"That's lucky."

He nods morosely, "Yeah if you're unlucky they kill the whole village." It's Bellamy's turn to curse. "We can't know if Bray will betray them or not. There is no way they are giving up their kid. The only reason she's not dead now is because Clarke's hurt and needs her. But as soon as she's awake…" Murphy trailed off making his meaning clear. As soon as Clarke awoke he would kill Bray. He was once again surprised at the protective relationship Murphy had with Clarke and her family.

"That's not much incentive for her to make sure Clarke wakes up," Bellamy mused lightly.

Murphy tensed, "Clarke'll wake up, she has too." His eyes wandered behind him. Bellamy glanced over his shoulder to see what the other man was looking at. Lincoln holding onto Clarke's hand as Bray fussed over her, the baby held close to his chest. Wells was perched nearby, his eyes intent on his mother's unconscious face.

"She'll wake up." Bellamy confirmed, she had too.

Another day and Clarke awoke, thankfully not making liars out of the two men.

In the time since then they had barely had a moment to speak. He was surprised the young woman was still alive.

"What are you guys' planning to do about Bray?" Bellamy was never one to beat around the bush. He also wasn't foolish enough to believe he had any say in the matter. Even if he did, he couldn't say he would argue against killing her. She was a threat to their family.

Clarke heaved a tired sigh. "I would prefer not killing her. She's a student and someone I considered to be a friend. But…"

"But you don't think you can trust her?"

She turned to him then, her eyes wide with powerlessness, "Maybe. But I can't afford to test it."

Bellamy nodded understandingly. "Why is she still alive?"

"Because the others might find it suspicious. And maybe I'm still waiting for a magical third option to appear."

"Well Murphy's just about chomping at the bit."

"I know. But I won't let him kill her."

"Why?"

"Because he's family. I'm not going to use him to do our dirty work. When the time comes Lincoln, or I will take care or it. Murphy doesn't need that on his conscious."

"But you do?"

With a grim smile, "I can handle it. I've had worse." Silence reigned between the two until Clarke was ready to speak again. "I think we have a real chance at being inducted as the thirteenth clan."

"You're not just saying that to get my hopes up, are you?"

"No. Monty and I have been talking. You guys have good relations with the surrounding villages, who sound like they'd be willing to give their support. The agricultural technology, medical knowledge, medicine, and even the weaponry you guys have developed will be great pros. But it's not just about what we can offer them."

Bellamy's brow furrowed in confusion, "It's not?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's also about what we could cost them. If they do or don't bring us into the fold. If they do, Lexa might lose the support of the ice nation and could spark another war. She won't want to risk that, but Monty's found some interesting things in that journal that might be able to help. But if they don't make us a clan, we have to let Lex know we will not go quietly. We aren't just going to roll over and die. We have superior weapons and knowledge on military tactics. But it won't be enough, we might have to get our hands dirty."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Bellamy remarked. He didn't mean for it to sound as cruel as it did.

Clarke's hands rubbed roughly against one another, like she was trying to clean them of invisible stains.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked quietly knowing she already had some plan partially formulated. They both glanced around still making sure they were being unheard.

"E Coli. Monty said you had a bad strain of it a couple years ago. He's kept samples of the strain to study along with some other strains of bacteria which could be useful."

"What do we do with it?"

"Poison their harvests. It would be fairly easy to spread it across the fields, we could even poison the livestock. Those who don't die form it will get sick, just like when they sent Murphy back to us infected. Gun powder. What they have is rudimentary at best, but we'd be able to give it more of a bang, weaponize it better. The most important thing will be fortifying the village. If they all come for us at once, we'll be screwed. Land mines, tar pits, hell a moat will help. Hopefully they've been fortifying things in your absence, I'm sure Raven has some pretty good ideas. The best thing to do would be to divide them, attack a village but frame another clan for it, specifically the ice nation. We know they already have a contentious relationship with the other clans. But they might not fall for it, knowing we'd be doing everything we can to save ourselves."

"Things could get bloody."

Taking a moment to think, "Lexa's not unreasonable. She generally wants peace. The only reason she'd fight us is if the ice nation rallies enough allies to her side. We jus need to make sure that doesn't happen."

"You got a plan for that."

"Yes."

Bellamy nodded, trusting her implicitly.

…..

One month. It would only take them one more month to reach Arcadia. Bellamy was so tired of traveling he could almost weep with joy. They'd be cutting it close, having less than two weeks to get to the assembly after arriving home, but it was good enough for him. To be able to sleep in the same place for more than one night would be heaven.

Monty would most likely stay in Arcadia once they returned but the rest of them plus Kane would be heading off to Tondc. He wasn't sure about Bray.

"Hey Clarke, are you bringing the kids to Tondc?" The thought having just occurred to Bellamy. He glanced behind him at the small family and saw Clarke and Lincoln have one of their private conversations. Wells glanced at them interestedly.

"No." Wells opened his mouth to argue, but his father placed his hand on his should and squeezed lightly. Clarke gave her son a look of apology before glancing down at the bundle in her arms. "We decided it would be best to leave them with Murphy at Arcadia." Neither parent looked happy at the thought of being away from their children. But it was the best move. It would be too dangerous. And if things did not go in their favor it would be easier to sneak them away if they weren't in the heart of enemy territory.

"Wait, I'm doing what now?" Murphy had only dropped back slightly, keeping Bray near, but enabling him to better join their conversation.

"You're going to stay with the kids in Arcadia." Clarke stated, paying Murphy's clear agitation no mind.

"I don't remember agreeing to that."

"Who else would we leave them with?" Lincoln questioned.

Murphy clenched his jaw at the response, clearly wanting to argue. It was still hard for Bellamy to wrap his head around the fact that Murphy was the only person they felt safe to leave their children with. And that Murphy would so willingly take up that responsibility. It was evident in the way he looked at the kids, the way he talked with Wells and held Gwen, he would willingly not only kill for them, but die for them.

The couple shared amused expressions knowing the had trapped him.

"What about Abbey?" Monty questioned.

"Whose Abbey?" Wells asked his head bouncing from one adult to the next.

"Your grandmother," Lincoln answered.

Wells' face scrunched up in confusion, "Like Grandma Atha?"

"Yes, except Grandma Abbey is my mother." Clarke told him. They had all mentioned the woman, Atha, before. She seemed to have played a significant part in their lives the last couple years. But he knew she had passed on, leaving a whole in their lives.

"Oh," the little boy's face was still scrunched up in thought. "If we are going to see Grandma Abbey can we see Grandma Gwen too?"

Indra turned back then, looking at the boy and then glancing back to his father. Pain flashing in her eyes, one of the rare times Bellamy had seen any emotion in them.

"No honey, Grandma Gwen passed away, like Atha." Clarke told him softly her free hand dropping to brush her knuckles comfortingly against the back of her husband's clenched hand.

"Whose Gwen," Bellamy was surprised. Not by the question, but by who had asked it. Octavia had refrained from having any contact, more than absolutely necessary, between herself and the couple trailing behind him.

"That's Daddy's mom, we named baby Gwen after her. I didn't get to meet her."

Octavia took in Wells' every word, she looked at the cautious couple once she had finished processing. She didn't attack them or lash out, but hurt was evident on her face. A pain arisen from the fact that her relationship had not been the one she had thought it was. She and Lincoln may have been in love, but they lacked the intimacy the current couple had managed to garner over the last couple years. Bellamy briefly wondered if Octavia had ever told him about their mother.

But he only had a second to ponder it when the world shifted around him. All of a sudden, he and the others were hoisted into the air trapped in a net at least twenty-feet above the forest floor. The only ones left on the ground were Indra, Bray, Clarke, Lincoln, and the kids.

He was forced to watch helplessly, face shoved into their rope confines, as a group of six grounders descended on their remaining party.

Clarke turned, shoving the now crying baby into Bray's arms. The young woman backed up against a tree and crouched down, making herself as invisible as possible. Clarke took a defensive stance in front of her as she placed Wells between them, even as he pulled a small knife from his boot, panic on all their faces.

Clarke had her own knife drawn ready to defend them against any attackers. Lincoln had two swords out and was approaching two of their combatants, and Indra was already crossing blades with another, while two more closed in on her quickly. The remaining man was going for Clarke directly.

He could feel the others shifting restlessly above him. His body screamed in protest as he was shoved further into the ropes, cutting into him.

"Octavia, don't!" he heard Murphy yell, but was unable to see what his sister was doing. "I said no you idiot!" he then heard his sister scream in anger as a jolt went through the hanging group.

"He's right, Octavia. Look how high up we are. If you cut the rope the fall could kill us and then we'd still be no use," Monty rushed out.

Bellamy heard O release a frustrated breath but the shoving behind him settled and relieved some of the pressure off him.

While they had been arguing he had continued to watch the fight beneath them. Clarke had played the simpering woman and let the attacker get dangerously close to her. When he was within a foot she stabbed him through the neck and then yanked it forward tearing clean through. He fell, bleeding out almost immediately.

Indra was holding her own, but was being quickly overwhelmed by her now three opponents.

Lincoln was still in fierce battle but getting the upper hand when Bellamy saw a seventh man appear from off in the distance. He wore a hood and was completely silent as he began to approach the unawares Lincoln.

"Linc, to the left! There's another one!" Bellamy shouted as he shoved his blade through one of the men. Lincoln abandoned the sword when he couldn't get it out easily, leaving him with only one, pulling a knife to make up for the loss. The last man approached, a confidence and power in his walk that the other men lacked. Bellamy worried that this man might actually be a match for his old friend.

Lincoln turned to confront his new attacker, mule kicking the other man as he did, causing him to stumble back and fall. Wasting no time, the hooded man slashed at Lincoln coming at him hard, knowing he would be tiring by now.

Bellamy glanced over at Indra hoping she was faring better and would be able to go and help Lincoln. She had managed to kill, or at least seriously injure one of her attackers, but was still fighting the others.

Clarke was still standing in a protective stance in front of the others. He could see the battle in her eyes. She wanted to help. But she was still weak, and he wasn't sure she would be match in a fair fight in her current state.

When he saw her take a hesitant step forward, as the two men surrounded Lincoln, he called out to her, "Clarke, don't!" Clarke took a step back her jaw clenching in frustration.

Bellamy's attention turned back to Lincoln when he heard a grunt of pain. Lincoln had been able to slice the late comers arm with his knife, causing him to drop his weapon. As he did the man behind him swung his sword aiming for Lincoln's head. Lincoln ducked, falling to one knee and turning so he could swing his own sword at the man, gouging it into his side. While that man crumbled in pain, the other now weaponless man used Lincoln's preoccupation as an opportunity to bring his heavily booted foot down onto Lincoln's bent knee. He cried at in agony as he fell to the ground clutching his injured knee. Lincoln tried to quickly recover, scrambling for his knife, but his attacker kicked it away retrieving his own fallen blade.

"Linc, get up! Get up!" Bellamy knew it was a fruitless demand, but he couldn't help but hope the man would find a second wind and manage to find a way out of this. He could hear the others above him demanding to know what was going on, but he ignored him, intent on the battle bellow. His hands clenched around the ropes, his breath began to come short as he watched what he is sure to be his friend's final moments.

As the man stood above Lincoln, raising his sword to strike, a blonde blur flew towards him tackling him to the ground. The man grunted more surprised then hurt.

Clarke brought her knife down towards the man's chest. He managed to get a hand around her arm and shift them, so the blade went through his shoulder instead of his heart. His hold prevented Clarke from being able to remove the knife or even let go to defend herself. He punched her in the face then, rolling them over so he was on top, he continued to hit her until she lost consciousness spitting blood.

Bellamy could hear Wells screaming for his mother, but saw that Bray had a hold of him, preventing him for running into the danger.

Lincoln had been crawling towards them, but when the man finished with Clarke he got up pulling the knife from his shoulder and went over to Lincoln and hit him in back of the head with the hilt of the knife knocking him unconscious.

Bellamy looked for Indra then, hoping she'd be free to help them, but she herself was lying face down on the forest floor. The two men who she had been fighting walked towards the third hooded man. Both eyeing the cowering Bray as if she was of no consequence.

" _Should we kill them now?"_ One of the two asked the last man, who was obviously in charge.

The man lowered his hood and looked at the other two men annoyed. " _I told you we couldn't."_ His voice was deep and gruff. He had shoulder length brown hair, tied half up, and he wore a short scruffy beard. _"Take Wanheda and let's get moving."_ As the other two picked Clarke up off the ground, one slinging her over his should, the man looked around at the destruction they had reaped. His eyes landed on Wells, the boy's face etched in fury, a clear imitation of his father.

Wells gave a furious cry, breaking Bray's hold on him and charged knife in hand towards the man he had just watched beat his parents. The man easily disarmed him, picking him up and turning him around, his arm banded across the young boy's throat as he struggled fruitlessly. He gave a withering glance to the whimpering Bray before he looked up and met Bellamy's eyes.

"If you follow us, I'll kill the boy."

"Like hell you will!" Murphy called out from somewhere above him. "You do that, and I'll feed you your eyeballs!"

The man just smirked in response. Turning to follow his retreating companions.

Bellamy yelled in frustration as he watched not only Clarke, but Wells being taken his away. And couldn't help but think, not for the first time, he wished he'd never found her. And how the hell was he going to get them back.

* * *

A.N. For all you Murphy fans out there, get excited. I'm thinking about making the next chapter a Murphy POV. I hadn't planned on giving you his backstory but as of right now it would fit into the story nicely. I reserve the right to change my mind, but I think the story could progress better from his view rather than Clarke's.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Okay, this chapter is only about halfway done but I figured you guys have waited long enough and it's long enough where I should split this into two parts anyway, which I did. Second part is still in processing though. This ends on a cliffhanger that might never be revisited, because it's anticlimactic.

Not a Murphy POV like I suggested in the last chapter but has a lot of Murphy loving in it.

Special shout out to ClaireR89 for continued support and help, even though I'm not so great at utilizing it.

Also, someone commented and asked a question like 'why didn't they use horses if they're on such a time crunch' I answered them at the time but I'm just going to tell you all that had legitimately never crossed my mind. I read that and thought 'what? horses? oh shit that's a thing.' Even if I had thought I probably wouldn't have used them, pregnant chick on horseback seems dangerous and it's more annoying when they have to move at a snails pace.

Enjoy! Maybe I'll have the next chapter up before 2020.

* * *

Chapter 13

Clarke grunted in annoyance as she stumbled forward, her tied hands being yanked foreword by the man whose horse she was tied to. She trailed behind him at a faster pace than her exhausted body was currently capable of. She refused to show any signs of weakness though. But she was flagging and wasn't sure how much farther she could go. She'd walked half of the night and most of the day, the sun beginning to dip back low behind the trees.

She sighed around her gag. She'd thought she was past this point of her life, but her chaffed and bleeding wrists begged to differ. One of the others laughed as the man yanked on the rope again, forcing her to stumble foreword once more. The bundle in her arms whimpered and she cuddled her young son closer to her chest protectively, doing her best to kiss his head as he borrowed further into her arms.

 _I am going to kill them all_. Clarke thought as she glared at the back of the man above her. _No, that was wrong. Lincoln would find them and then they would kill them all together._

One of them, a girl, had wandered into her village begging for help, saying her son was in an accident and couldn't be moved but if Clarke didn't come and help he would die. She'd used the name of a friend in a nearby village to convince Clarke. Atha had been weary but Clarke had looked at her own son and couldn't take the idea of letting the woman's child die.

Motherhood had made her soft. She glanced down at her little love. She'd been able to calm him down after their initial capture, but even at two he knew enough to know to be afraid. He wouldn't have any need to be afraid if she hadn't been so trusting. A word that had always been- for her- synonymous with stupid. The stupidest thing she had done was take Wells with her. He could have been safe with Atha or Lincoln, playing with his friends in the village. But instead she'd taken him with her because Wells was currently going through a clingy phase and refused to leave her side. She hadn't been able to part with his tearstained face. Maybe she was experiencing a little bit of a clingy phase too. If she were honest, she'd been experiencing one since he was born.

Lincoln found her hovering amusing. Her husband cared as fiercely for their son as she did, but he took a different approach to parenthood. He let Wells fall on his own and was always there to help him back up. He knew exactly when to pull her back, so she didn't smother Wells and gave him room to grow.

Clarke had been enormously jealous of him. Fatherhood had come to him so naturally, while for her it felt like a constant struggle. She was too clinical, too cold, too scarred to be a good mother. Nothing Lincoln could say or do made her feel like she wasn't a failure. Then four months after Wells was born, he had gotten sick, nothing serious, but the first real discomfort of his young life. And during those moments of childhood anguish he only wanted her. He would reach for her when he was anywhere but, in her arms, cling to her when he was there, refusing to let himself be removed. She ached for him, his pain manifesting in her own heart, but she was grateful for the realization that even though she would never be the perfect mother he would love her anyway. Just as she loved her own imperfect mother.

She pulled Wells tighter into her arms ignoring her protesting muscles. Sweat poured down her face and her footing became less sure with each step. How long had it been since they were taken?

Lincoln had left the day before they'd come for her. Traveling to a nearby village to trade, not meaning to be gone for more than a day or two. Clarke assumed it meant that they had been watching her, instead of just having a fortuitous opportunity. But she was grateful in a way. Although, things might have been different if Lincoln were there. He might have prevented this. Or they might have killed him and taken her and Wells anyway. She'd much rather he be out there somewhere attempting to find them. And he would. He would find them. She knew it. She'd known Lincoln for far too long to doubt him. Lincoln would not rest until he found them. And when he did, they would kill every last one of the people who dare to separate them.

Her murderous thoughts were diverted by the sound of galloping hoofs behind them. Clarke glanced back to see a rider coming up on them. The other four did not seem startled so Clarke assumed that this was the man that the others referred to as the Nomad.

They had stopped to make camp some time the night before. Clarke had barely closed her eyes before they had yanked her awake pulling her back onto one of the horses. Clarke had been bound by her hands and feet, her head pounding from where she'd been hit. She'd wanted to use her respite to come up with an escape plan, but she was just too exhausted. Wells curled his arms around her neck and sniffled into her chest and all she could do was breath him in and bask in the fact that they were still alive.

" _The nomad hasn't caught up yet_ ," one of the two men stated.

" _That better mean he's doing his job_." The woman who appeared to be the groups defacto leader snarled. Clarke had caught her name, Titania, and she was ice nation. Or was. None of them were clan anymore. Now they were bounty hunters, loyal to no clan only themselves.

" _Maybe he's outlived his usefulness,_ " the other man mused.

Clarke listened intently. Whoever this Nomad was he was in trouble. Bade for him, good for her. Dissent amongst them gave her options. If they chose to make a move against the nomad than that was at least one of them dead. Things would work out even better if he was able to take a few them down with him. Either way some of them were going to die and the survivors would have to deal with the paranoia that they were next. This could work in Clarke's favor. Although his presence added to the numbers against her further stacking the odds against her she was the Mountain Slayer, the odds were always stacked against her.

Clarke turned towards the mysterious nomad. He was slight of build but radiated lethal intention. He wore a hood that covered his head and the lower half of his face, all that she could see was his eyes. Cold, calculating, and piercing her down to her soul when they met hers. She couldn't help but feel a familiar spark. She brushed off the thought, thinking she'd spent too much time around killers. Breaking the stare, she heard his horse slow to a trot to match pace with the others.

" _Did you cover our tracks_?" The man only grunted in response. The others seemed used to the man's borderline laconic response.

With the Nomad returned and their tracks properly covered the others felt free to make camp. Clarke fell to the ground with relief, only jostling Wells slightly. She took huge gulping breaths and felt her muscles cry with relief as her captors began setting up camp, the sun already dipping low behind the trees. The Nomad stalked off mumbling to others about taking first watch.

Titania and one of the men- Seth, she thought his name was- began to talk in hushed whispers, throwing glances at where the Nomad had headed in. She was distracted when the other woman, younger and far less intimidating than her _Azgaden_ counterpart, literally threw her some scraps of food. She pulled Wells from where he'd burrowed himself into her and fed him after checking the food herself. There was no reason to poison them, but she'd gotten into this mess because of her laxed behavior. She was on guard now.

"Dada?" Wells asked in between small bites.

"He's coming," Clarke whispered in a sure tone.

"Want Dada."

She kissed his forehead, "I know baby, me too." Clarke rocked Wells to sleep still asking for his father the entire time. Clarke was too exhausted to fight the sleep that overtook her and soon followed her son.

…..

Clarke startled awake, the sound of a snapping branch pulling her from her light slumber. She glanced down and made sure Wells was still asleep, tucked against her. Once she saw he was safe… as safe as he could be, Clarke scanned the area. Her eyes landed on a crouched figure by the fire they were near. His masked face was illuminated by the flames as Clarke watched him. Clarke was about to open her mouth, take the opportunity to implant the seed of paranoia in him and warn him what Titania surely had planned for him but she stopped. Closing her mouth slowly when she realized he wasn't stoking the fire as she'd originally thought, but rather pretending to. She watched his eyes searching the faces of those sleeping around them, then track the man on duty as he walked the perimeter of their camp.

As soon as he was out of sight the Nomad's eyes landed on Clarke. She was pinned once more by their haunting familiarity. Clarke opened her mouth to speak once more but her voice caught in her throat as the man lowered the hood from his mouth and brought a finger to his mouth in a telling gesture.

Clarke's eyes widened in shock as she stared into the face of John Murphy. A cruel smirk graced his striking features at her stunned expression.

"Son of a bitch," Clarke hissed. _Fucking Murphy always looking out for himself and to hell with everyone else._ He'd always claimed to be a survivor. She doubted that survivor's instinct he often boasted if he was stupid enough to not only take her but her child.

Murphy snorted at the rage he must have seen building on her face. "Relax, princess." He talked low neither one wanting to be overheard.

"You're with them!"

"'With' is a strong word. They had something I needed. They don't anymore." He spoke calmly like she hadn't marked him for a dead man the moment he showed his face with them.

"And what?"

"And I'm going to help you and the rugrat get out of here."

"Bull shit. The Murphy I know would never risk his life for anyone."

"Yeah well you don't know me as well as you think." Murphy gave a frustrated sigh at her narrowed eyes that voiced her disbelief. "Christ. You. Clarke. You are what I needed. I need your help."

"And you thought kidnapping me was the best way to get it."

"No, the kidnapping's all them. I just came along for the ride. They knew where you were, I didn't, so I pretended to join them. I've been trying to track you down for two years! Besides you should be thanking me."

"For what?!" she spat in disbelief only taking a brief moment to wonder why Murphy had been looking for her for so long. An involuntary chill ran up her spine at the trouble John Murphy had gotten himself into and needed her help to fix. Last she'd heard he, Jaha, and a few others had gone looking for the city of Light. A utopia hidden somewhere within this dark world. Those who had survived the mountain knew paradise came at a cost. How high was it this time? And how was Clarke going to help pay it?

"I'm the one who convinced these assholes not to kill your baby daddy and left a trail for him to follow. If he's smart, he'll catch up to us in at least a day, less if he's good and I stall properly.

"You saved Lincoln?"

"Tall, dark, and mean looking? Yeah, I saved him. Told them he wouldn't be worth the trouble of killing. You're welcome. You ready to trust me yet?"

"Not a chance."

The smirk was back on his face as he said, "You don't exactly have any other options here. You're good but even you can't take them all on your own." Clarke bit back her retort of 'watch me' because that would just be her pride talking. "You. Need. Me," he enunciated each word as he finished, giving a pointed look towards the sleeping child in her arms.

Any protest she might have had died. Clarke stared down at Wells, attempting to brush the hair off his forehead she reached out a hand only to remember her hands were still bound causing her to jostle him slightly. Annoyed she settled for brushing her lips against his head. Closing her eyes as the warmth from him permeated through her cold extremities.

She couldn't trust Murphy. Clarke knew that. But to protect her son she would have to. She wouldn't survive if something ever happened to him. She would never be able to forgive herself. Lincoln would never be able to forgive her.

"Whatever happens," her eyes left Wells' peaceful face and turned on Murphy who was staring at them with longing, "You protect Wells. Understand? If you can't save us both you save him."

Clarke respected the fact that he offered no meaningless platitudes or impossible promises. No 'it won't come to that' or 'never fear I'll save you both, we'll all get out of this alive and ride off into the sunset on unicorns that shoot rainbows out of their asses.'

"Deal."

"What's the plan?"

…..

Turns out laying out a plan by whispering covertly in the dark of night while your enemies literally sleep less than ten feet away. Not that easy.

Murphy was only able to intimate a couple details to Clarke last night. Enough details to clue her into the fact that he didn't actually have a plan and was making it up as he went along. She hadn't really expected anything more, but it still worried her to know.

Clarke and Wells had been awoken roughly at dawn. The grounder Titania had been conspiring with kicking Clarke roughly in the ribs to do so. She'd been trying to keep her distance from him, she didn't like the way his eyes roamed over her body, a hungry look in them.

They hadn't been fed. Clarke didn't care about herself, but Wells would need to eat. Before she could demand something for him, he was ripped from her arms by Jada, the other woman in their group. Clarke stumbled to her feet but was gripped tight around the waist by one of them and could only watch as Wells fought against the woman. Kicking the woman hard in the stomach and scratching down her face the woman screamed and lifted her hand to strike Wells. Clarke revamped her efforts to escape as she watched Jada's hand ark down towards her son when Murphy stepped in and grabbed her arm roughly. He twisted until she released Wells and he feel to the ground and immediately ran to her, wrapping his arms around her leg and crying.

Clarke brushed his head- still being held herself- and told him, "It's okay, baby."

" _Back off the kid_ ," Murphy snarled ferociously. Jada fought against his grip but couldn't free her arm. Clarke knew with one twist he could snap the bone, she hoped he would. Jada must have realized it and relaxed into his hold, almost going boneless with her submission. Only then did Murphy release her.

" _Got a soft spot for the little whelp_ ," Titania asked eyeing Murphy critically, having approached them unawares.

Murphy scoffed, " _He's leverage. You don't fuck with leverage. We kill her kid I guarantee you none of us will be waking up tomorrow._ "

The growl that tour from Clarke at the mere mention of killing Wells was instinctual. It was also effective, as she watched two of them take a step back unsurely and felt the arms drop from her waist. Bound, beaten, and captured and she could still intimidate the big scary grounders. Of course, she did have practice over the years through intimidating her big scary husband.

" _Fine. No one touches the boy._ " Titania had not taken her eyes from Murphy- not even reacting to Clarke's little show- continuing to test Murphy. " _But if…_ " her eyes flicked to Clarke, " _when the time comes to use our leverage, you'll be the one to cut off his fingers._ "

Clarke's heart stuttered at the thought, her fingers digging deeper into Wells soft locks. Murphy's smile was cruel, the perfect image of malicious intent, " _Wouldn't have it any other way._ "

The matter settled the others began to climb onto their horses while Murphy marched up to her and Wells. Clarke resisted for show, knowing that Murphy would unfortunately be the safest option for her son at the moment.

Playing along, "Hey, he either rides with me or her," he said. Jutting his chin towards Jada.

Pretending to think it over Clarke waited a minute before nodding, shaking off Arturo's hands she knelt to whisper in his ear.

"Trust him," Wells looked into her eyes questioningly but nodded.

Murphy had been staring down at them and reached for Wells once Clarke signaled it was okay.

Clarke was surprised at how tenderly he handled the young boy. Gathering him up into his arms and murmuring his own words of comfort and encouragement.

Since then he had even managed to make Wells laugh a few times, earning speculative looks from the others and he'd fed him to Clarke's relief.

Clarke had been pulled onto a horse with her least favorite grounder for accompaniment. He held a knife against her thigh for most of the journey, digging it in every now and then as his hands roamed over her body. His touch made her stomach churn. Not only was it repulsive in itself, but Clarke hadn't allowed, hadn't wanted anyone to touch her like this since she and Lincoln began their relationship. She couldn't wait to kill him.

They had ridden for hours, morose silence interspersed with the quiet conversation between Wells and Murphy, who was keeping her son entertained with silly stories. Until one of the horses reared back falling to the ground, his rider smashed between it and the heavy earth as it twitched and struggled to regain its footing. The man screamed in pain as he freed himself from the animal as it stood back up. It whined in pain as it shifted its weight away from one hoof in particular. The grounder just barely managed to roll out of the way of the horses other stomping hooves.

The rest of them had come to an abrupt halt. Jada launched herself from her horse and towards the injured man, appearing more worried than all the others. Titania who had been leading the pack and only turned back when she realized the others had stopped. Her eyes first turned to Clarke suspecting foul play but seeing her genuine surprise they turned to the fallen man. Annoyance radiating from her as she descended from her horse at a subdued speed.

Murphy slowly lowered himself from his own horse and handed the reigns to the man that held her. He approached the bucking horse and calmed him. Clarke marveled at how easily he'd done it, whispering calm words and keeping an even tone. He was as gentle with the hurt animal as he had been with her son. Once he'd calmed the horse completely, he gently stroked him as he walked around the horse examining it. When he'd gotten to the back hoof the horse had been gingerly placing its weight on, he picked it up examining the roughly made horse shoe beneath it. Titania approached him as he pulled something from it.

" _Splinter_ ," he told her handing the giant piece of wood that had seemed to lodge itself in the soft underbelly of the horse's hoof.

" _Fuck_."

Titania threw the object on the ground and turned to the whining man behind her.

" _Can he ride?_ "

Jada replied panicked, " _He can ride. He's fine._ " She then attempted to pull the man up, but he cried out in pain and fell back in a heap. Titania gave them a dark look when Jada rushed out to demand Clarke look at him. " _She's a healer, she can fix him. He can ride._ " Clarke knew what the woman was afraid of. Injured accomplices were a liability and Titania didn't seem to prone to handling those well.

Walking over she attempted to yank Clarke from atop her horse.

Clarke gasped as the fear of falling from such a large height became all too real. Just as she was about to be unseated Murphy pushed her out of the way and grasped her by the hips. Although he roughly dropped her then, forcing her to tumble to her knees, it was far better than the alternative.

Clarke turned to Titania waiting for her permission already knowing how the other woman would prefer to handle the situation. She inclined her head slightly.

She walked slowly over to the man. Having already observed him she knew what to expect. His leg was broken at the very least. At worst, his knee and ankle may have been crushed as well, in which case he would never walk right again.

The man made no protest towards her approach. Jada knelt at his side holding tightly onto each other's hands.

Examining the injury was difficult, her bound hands making it so. But when she silently gestured to have them cut Titania only offered her an 'I'm not stupid' look. So, she made do.

Being none too gentle, she ignored the man's cries and flinches, not caring if she hurt one of her kidnappers.

" _Can he ride?_ " Titania demanded once more, her patience running thin.

Clarke looked towards the couple, hope and worry in equal mixture across their faces.

" _No. The leg and ankle are broken, and his hip is badly bruised. He'd never be able to hold himself atop the horse._ "

" _I'm fine. I can ride._ " He protested. Shaking Jada's hands off himself and attempting to stand once more.

Clarke leaned away knowing it wouldn't last. As soon as he managed to lift himself off the ground he fell back in anguish, his movements causing crippling pain.

They all settled into uncomfortable silence all waiting for Titania's decree. The man on the ground breathing in deeply, doing what little he could to manage his pain. But it was too late, he was no longer of any use to her.

" _Go on without us. We'll stay behind,_ " Jada pleaded. When no one responded, " _We won't tell anyone about Wanheda. You go your way, we go ours. The bounty is yours. We only want our lives._ " She pleaded to deaf ears. No grounder, especially not an _Azgaden_ , would risk that. If she betrayed them, they'd have every warrior for a hundred miles hunting them down. And they were bounty hunters, they would never just walk away.

As the seconds passed even the forest around them quieted with anticipation.

The stalemate was broken in an instant, the man's hand springing out to grasp Clarke's wrist and pull her into him. A knife was at her throat and the others drew their weapons.

" _Let us go or I'll slice her open._ "

Titania only sneered at him.

" _And how exactly would that work? You can't move and we sure as hell not leaving without her._ " Murphy said.

Jada attempted for a resolution, "H _e can't ride, but I can drape him over a horse. We take her with us and we'll leave her tied up somewhere for you to find in a couple hours._ "

" _That's a really brilliant plan_ ," his voice dripping with sarcasm.

As the two began to argue back and forth, Clarke used the distraction to liberate herself. Keeping a strong hold on the wrist with the knife in it she kicked out and stomped onto the man's already broken leg, twisting his wrist at the same time, until he was forced to drop the knife or break his wrist. He screamed, Clarke taking one extra moment to elbow him in the gut before she rolled away.

With a breath she heard the familiar sound of knives flying through the air and landing with hard thuds into their intended targets. There were no gasps of final breaths being taken or last words being uttered, only silence. Without looking towards the carnage, she raised herself to her feet and walked over to her son. His horse was far enough away that Wells was blocked from seeing anything.

Clarke felt no remorse or guilt, it was callous, but she'd learned to shed emotions like those. At least where enemies were concerned. Their actions weren't based on survival, it was greed.

Wells was sitting stock still on his horse only relaxing when he saw her approach.

"Hey, honey, are you okay?" he nodded scanning her with wide fearful eyes for any injuries. When she reached his side, she clasped onto the leg closest to her, his hands going around her own.

For one fleeting moment she had designs of escape. Swinging herself onto the horse and riding off into the forest, back to their home, back to Lincoln. But there's a reason why such thoughts are fleeting. They were unrealistic.

She startled when she heard someone approaching but calmed when she realized it was only Murphy. She watched as he went into one of the saddlebags removing a rag using it to wipe the still wet blood from his hands. He met her wandering eye and her stomach turned.

Only two men had ever killed for her before. The knowledge that Murphy had now joined that number filled her with dread. Not because she felt indebted to him. It was because she knew what it felt like. What it felt like to have the blood cake her hands. For the cries to ring in her ears. For the images of their final moments to play out behind her eyes in every free moment. She bore it, so they didn't have to. She was never good at sharing the responsibility, never knowing how to endure it from the other side.

In the last few years she'd become more adapt at it, however. She'd had to. Lincoln demanded it, wouldn't allow her to take it all on herself. He'd realized that was what had caused her to run after the mountain. She crumbled under the weight alone and he refused to let it happen again. And with him it was different. He had been carrying his own burdens long before she arrived. As their relationship grew so did her ability to share that burden with him. They carried it together.

Seeing Murphy tug some of that onus away from her did nothing but worry her.

"We need a plan," she whispered to him while the others were going through the corpses for anything they could scavenge and arguing about what to do with the injured horse. "We got lucky."

Scoffing, "Lucks for suckers, Clarke. Survivors make their own luck." Appraising him then she felt stupid. Of course, it was him. He always had a plan. A hail Mary play always at the back of his mind ready to be utilized at a moment's notice.

"What next?"

He smirks at her, knowing it was killing her to have to turn to him for guidance. Crowding her he pushes her back and away from Wells and into the arms of Arturo who begins to pull her towards their horse.

"You take him, I'll take her."

Having been settled Clarke stares ahead as the horse takes off, being careful to discretely tuck the small dagger Murphy had slipped her in-between her restraints.

…..

The death of two of his comrades did nothing to still his wandering hands. In fact, it emboldened her rider. He began to whisper all the vile things he was planning on doing to her that night. Telling her how no one was going to stop him as he fucked her into the ground while Wells watched.

Instead of scaring her it made her angry. And it made sliding the knife into his femoral artery when she 'accidentally' pinched his thigh beneath hers even easier. And that was the big dark secret. The one that she'd only felt safe to confide with Lincoln when wrapped up in the shadow of the night. Killing. Killing was easy. Maybe not the emotional aspect- although, sometimes it was easy even then-, but the physical act of killing had always been far too easy for her. She never hesitated, never even had to think about it. The actions flowed as easily through her as if she were drawing a picture. She knew exactly what the human body was capable of withstanding. Even knew that under the right circumstances someone would not even realize they were dying, bleeding out quickly, until it was too late. Just as it was too late for him.

Clarke had made sure to have a strong grip on his forearm when she felt him starting to sway, not wanting him to fall and alert Titania just yet. They'd been bringing up the rear and would receive the occasional glance backwards from Titania. If the other woman was growing anxious at the reducing numbers, she didn't show it.

Clarke caught Murphy's eye and signaled to him that the deed was done, and she began to cut the binds from her hands. Murphy shifted Wells behind him as Clarke prepared to let the body fall.

Just as she knew she would, Titania turned back abruptly at the sound. Her attention focused solely on Clarke she almost missed the dagger Murphy had thrown her way. Almost. She turned at the last second and caught the knife in her shoulder rather than her chest. Clarke charged her and leapt from her own horse and tackled the other woman to the ground despite knowing she would be unable to take the woman in hand-to-hand combat.

Clarke grunted and winced at the impact before quickly getting her bearings to punch the woman in the face. Her teeth were bloody, but she was otherwise unfazed, rolling them so she was on top of Clarke and began to hit her. She'd only needed to land a few blows before Clarke was too stunned to move, practically unconscious, she felt Titania's weight lift off her and knew she'd turned on Murphy.

Clarke's head was fuzzy and couldn't tell what the other woman sneered at him because she was doing a fair imitation of a fish on land. Attempting roll herself over and lift herself on her hands and knees while her scrambled brain kept turning the lights off on her.

When Clarke finally managed to stagger to her feet, she was horrified to see Murphy on the ground- dead or unconscious, she couldn't tell- and Titania pulling Wells from their horse.

Wells cried out as Titania yanked on his arm and tuned towards Clarke. She hadn't missed the bloody knife in Titania's hand.

 _"_ _Sky bitch needs to learn a lesson,"_ she spit through a broken nose, on top of the bloody mouth Clarke had given her. Murphy had gotten a few shots in at least.

 _"_ _No wait! I'll do whatever you want! Please don't hurt him!"_ Clarke begged even falling to her knees to show her she'd one. Clarke watched as she smiled and knew she was about to watch her son die because of her actions. " _Please,"_ she begged weakly, the word breaking over her tears.

Clarke's breath hitched as she watched the knife rise and then begin to come down towards the love of her life only to be stalled by Murphy leaping onto the woman. The three fell back in a heap and Clarke did her best to run to them. She could hear Titania and Murphy grunting and Wells cry. When she got to them, she pulled Wells from them first, she stumbled back with him and held him to her chest crying in relief when she saw he was unharmed. Turning back, she watched Titania and Murphy roll around on the floor together until Murphy was able to pull Titania into a head lock. He wrapped around her body like a python and squeezed. Clarke kept Wells head buried in her chest as she watched Murphy strangle the life out of the woman who would have killed her son.

When Titania stopped moving Murphy relaxed his grip with a breath. Clarke could hear the rattle in his breathing from where she sat. Kissing Wells on the head she told him to stay while she went to him. With difficulty Clarke rolled the dead woman off him. She hesitated for only a second when she saw the knife buried in-between Murphy's ribs. She was stalled by the memory of Finn's similar injury but not for long.

Clarke immediately began to examine the wound. Murphy's eyes flickered towards her as she worked.

Clarke grimaced and heard Murphy taking another wheezing breath, "Cheer up, princess, you're getting your wish. I'm finally going to bite the big one."

"That's not what I want. Wells," she called back to him and he came immediately. "Stay with Murphy for a second." Her son nodded and moved to sit vigil in front of him.

Clarke left Murphy's side to dig through the packs for anything that could help. There wasn't much.

Returning to Murphy's side she told him "I'm going to take the knife out, it's going to hurt. You are not allowed to die today."

"Didn't know I needed your permission."

Murphy hands dug into the ground as she began to remove the knife, biting his lip roughly. She quickly began to treat the wound, meeting Murphy's dropping eyes as she did, praying that it would be enough.

…..

Clarke counted the weeks where Lincoln had been healing from a broken leg one of the worst times of her life. Her husband was obstinate, impatient, and overall trying as a patient.

John Murphy was somehow worse.

He hadn't died from the stab wound and was at no risk from dying from infection. He was, however, as risk of Clarke strangling him.

As soon as he had awoken, he attempted to stand and jump on a horse, tearing the stitches Clarke had been careful to put in as he did. He refused to listen to anything she said to the point where she had to finally use the sleeper hold Lincoln had taught her. The next time he awoke his hands and feet were tied. He was now propped up awkwardly against a log with Wells feeding him. When Clarke had tried, he attempted to bite her fingers. But he let Wells get close.

Night had come without Lincoln. She had hoped that he would have caught up to them by now. She worried that something had kept him. Her mind was racing with worse-case-scenarios until she sensed a presence. She sighed in relief and stood, turning in a circle and staring out into the surrounding forest despite knowing she'd never be able to spot him. Murphy eyed her curiously, but she ignored him.

When she heard a noise, she spun towards the direction it came from. Lincoln was practically at a run, eyes still scanning for threats as he approached her. Clarke wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless but her body refused to move. He was here. He was alive. It was like she could finally breath again, them being together meant everything was going to be okay.

"Dada," she heard Wells scream as he ran to his father, jumping into his arms. Lincoln caught him without a second thought and crushed him to his chest all while still walking towards her. When he finally reached her, he stopped just short of her. Clarke's hand drifted slowly towards his own, her fingers curling around his eagerly. She gasped when he returned the hold and she felt a huge smile cover her face while tears began to stream down. Lincoln then pulled her towards him and dropped her hand in favor of wrapping it around her. Clarke melted into him her own head nestled slightly above her son's as he held them.

All Clarke could do was cry. Wells babbled nonsensically to them as Lincoln pulled them tighter to him.

She's not sure how long they stood there before she heard, "This is touching and all, but could you untie me now, Clarke."

Lincoln stiffened and shifted Wells into her arms. She could feel the fury wafting off him. Before she could say anything, he stomped over to Murphy grabbed him by the shirt and brought his fist back. Realizing what was about to happen, Clarke jumped into action, setting Wells down she ran to Lincoln and wrapped her arms around his own outstretched one. "Lincoln, no. Stop! He helped us."

Lincoln released Murphy, who fell back with a grown. "Careful, Lincoln," she scolded. "I already had to stitch him up twice. And because of that I'm not untying you, Murphy." When she heard him curse, she smacked the back of his head and eyed Wells, "Language."

Lincoln gave her a questioning glare, "One does not usually tie their allies up."

"You do when they're Murphy," she muttered as John said, "Well your wife's a psycho." Murphy looked more annoyed then afraid.

Lincoln let out a soft growl at the insult. "Not helping Murphy!" She could feel Lincoln tensing and placed her hands on his chest to stop him from attacking Murphy when Wells walked past them and plopped down onto his lap.

"Friend, dada." And with that all the air rushed out of Lincoln, Wells had spoken.

"Jesus- Clarke you can't be fu-" at her and Lincoln's dark look he thought better, "fudging. You can't be fudging serious. We don't have time for this. Two years Clarke! Two years! I've wasted enough time!" Murphy slammed his tied hands against his lap in frustration, avoiding hitting Wells.

"Yeah, okay I get it. But you need to take it easy."

Wells chose that moment to begin feeding him again, cutting off any rebuttal Murphy had. He ate with a petulant frown on his face, glaring at her and Lincoln as they stifled their laughs.

Clarke was still wiping tears from her eyes as they settled. Murphy eyed her strangely, "What?" she asked him more sharply than she intended.

"I didn't know you could cry." Was his slightly fearful response.

"Yeah, I can cry. I also drink water and breath air like other normal human beings."

"You're not a normal human being."

Clarke rolled her eyes at him, while Wells stuffed another piece of food into his mouth.

Clarke took the opportunity to fill Lincoln in on the last few days. While she spoke, she couldn't help but touch him. Sitting so that their sides were pasted together. Her hand would alternate between resting against his thigh and playing with the fingers of his hand. Lincoln was similarly touch starved, his arm resting against her shoulders, his thumb drawing circles against her arm. They were affectionate people, but affectionate in private, they rarely showed such intimacy around others. Even if their audience was only made up of Murphy.

Clarke had given Lincoln the abridged version, not wanting to relive the more gruesome aspects in front of Wells. She knew he would demand to hear them when they were alone though. She was reluctant to tell him only because he would be furious and unable to vent that fury. He couldn't kill dead men.

Lincoln lived by a code. Murphy saving their son's life meant that Lincoln would give him a second chance, the benefit of the doubt until Murphy proved he couldn't be trusted. Clarke begrudgingly agreed to do the same. Wells taking to the man so readily made trusting Murphy easier but would make a betrayal all the more devastating.

Clarke owed Murphy enough to hear him out. She could admit she was a tad curious as to why he had spent the last two years looking for her, but she refused to be dragged back into that world.

Clarke picked a sleeping Wells up from Murphy's chest and placed him onto the blankets she'd set out.

"Okay Murphy let's hear it."

"Could you untie me first. This isn't exactly comfortable. I promise I'll behave." Clarke nodded, and Lincoln reached out and the cut the ropes. Murphy rubbed his sore wrists.

"Jaha went off the reservation Clarke."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"It means he became an evil A.I.'s bitch and is trying to help it take over the world." And then Murphy told her everything. Everything from the moment they left Arkadia. How they traveled across the dead zone, Jaha slowly losing his mind as they came closer to the island, the bunker, and then the mansion where Murphy met A.L.I.E.

"I refused to take her stupid chip. They still let me hitch a ride with them back to the mainland."

"What you're saying is, Jaha's out there somewhere distributing mind control chips to people and being controlled by the A.I. that ended the world?"

"He might be passing out the kool-aid but the bitch isn't running the show."

"What do you mean?"

"The girl I was with, Emori, she tried to steel A.L.I.E.'s power source. It didn't end well. We managed to escape but…"

"But what Murphy?" Clarke asked him insistently.

With a cry of frustration, "I went back for it! I know what she's capable of, I heard it right from the horse's mouth before it shot itself in the face! I couldn't just let it take over the world." Clarke rolled her eyes at him, only Murphy would be annoyed at saving the world. "I waited until they were asleep or meditating or whatever weird shit they do, and I took the stupid backpack and ran. But I couldn't figure out how to destroy the damn thing. Nothing I tried worked. Made from a stupid warhead. About a year after Jaha's minion caught up to me. I killed him and got away, but I knew it was just a matter of time, the thing was probably setting off a homing beacon."

"You've been running from them all this time?" Lincoln asked him. Clarke isn't sure if he completely grasped the severity of the situation. After everything she had told him it was still hard for him to grasp the idea of technology. This was all hard for Clarke to grasp and she'd grown up with it. The world hadn't been destroyed by hubris. Everything they'd known was wrong.

"At first I just worked on staying out of range but then I was able to get my hands on some lead paneling I covered the damn thing with it. It seemed to work. Felt safe enough to hide the damn thing," Murphy explained when Lincoln looked puzzled. "I haven't seen Jaha in over a year."

"What do you need me for?" Clarke asked.

"I can't just leave it where it is. And I don't know what to do. I didn't know where else to go. This isn't exactly up my alley Clarke. I don't save the world. This is your thing."

Clarke sighed and turned to Lincoln. "Give us a moment." Lincoln took her by the hand and walked away from Murphy, so they could have some privacy. She and Lincoln looked at each other for a long moment before Clarke sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. Lincoln's hand came up to cup the back of her head.

"We should take Wells to Atha before we leave."

Clarke nodded her head as best she could against his shoulder.

…..

Clarke heard a groan and then a giggle as she wandered into her living room. Murphy was lying on his back with Wells bouncing on top of him.

"Wells," Clarke called out firmly. The little boy looked up at his mother. "John needs to rest. Stop jumping on him."

"We're fine, Clarke. Stop being such a mom," Murphy replied.

"Yeah, stop being a mom," her son repeated. She rolled her eyes. A week. It had taken one week for her son to become John Murphy.

Swooping into the room she lifted Wells off Murphy's chest. "I'll never stop being your mom." Wells giggled as she swung him around. "Common baby I have to bring you to grandma's now."

"NO! Want to stay with John!"

Murphy eyed them with a pout. Clarke rolled her eyes, he was as big a baby as her son, wanting to play all day instead of doing work. "Can't. Your father and I need to go with John somewhere, but we'll be back soon. And you will be good for grandma?"

Wells nodded. "I'll just be ten minutes Murphy. Lincoln's getting everything we need ready," she called back to him as she left the house with Wells on her hip.

She could feel the change in her son as they walked, he became stiff and clung to her tightly. "Don't go."

"Have to baby. But you'll be safe." She couldn't guarantee she'd be safe, not after what Murphy told her.

She could hear Wells sniffle, "Please."

She leaned away until she could see his face and met his eyes, kissing his head. "Daddy and I have to do something important."

"What?"

Clarke didn't know how to explain it to him, there were no words that she could put it into where he could possibly understand. "We…have to stop some bad people. Okay?"

"Okay," Wells mimicked her own words not really agreeing with them.

Reaching Atha's home Clarke didn't even bother knocking just walked in. She placed Wells in the living room and greeted Atha by the fire.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"At least two weeks. I've been told it's not far."

"I still do not understand why you have to go."

She eyed Wells as he played with the toys he had here, "I owe a debt. Even if I didn't, I don't think I could ignore this."

"You are no longer _wanheda,"_ she hissed the name like a curse, talking low so Wells didn't hear. Atha is the only person she and Lincoln explicitly told who Clarke had been. Atha didn't care about the woman she had been, just the woman she was now, the woman she wanted to be. She knew her friends concern was in fear of Clarke being dragged back into that life.

"I won't have to be." Reaching out she took Atha's hand when her face remained stony, "Please tell me you understand? I need you to."

Atha sighed, her anger dissipating letting her fear show through completely. "I understand it's important, but I am not like you. I do not come from the stars. I do not understand what this thing is."

"This thing, it ended the world once. Lincoln and I need to make sure it doesn't happen again." They were both quiet as they stared into each other's eyes the tension building between them until Atha let out a breath leaned forward and brushing some of Clarke's hair behind her ear kissed her forehead. Clarke smiled at the motherly touch, tears leaking from her closed eyes.

"Be safe and come home." Clarke nodded and quickly hurried out of the house not even stopping to speak with Wells. If she didn't kiss him goodbye, then it wouldn't be one. She would have to come home.

The walk back to her house was a blur and when she entered, she walked straight past Murphy and into Lincoln's arms. She took a minute, burying her head in his shirt before she composed herself and stepped away to find a startled Murphy.

Clarke ignored him, grabbed her pack and then her husband's hand pulling him from the house. "Common the faster we leave the faster we can get back."

…..

Besides a brief conversation where Lincoln simultaneously thanked and threatened him, he and Murphy hadn't really spoken. Murphy had told his tail of woe and confined most of his interactions to playing with Wells. But now he didn't have Wells as a buffer.

"How'd you and Clarke meet?"

Clarke paused having a startling realization that he and Lincoln had never met. They'd both appeared in her life around the same time, but never in the same moments. It was weird to think about.

Without waiting for an answer or noticing Clarke's reaction he began talking again. "I'm surprised the queen of the sky people ended up with a grounder. How'd you explain all that shit to him?"

"She didn't." Murphy furrowed his brow in confusion. "I was there."

"Oh shit! Is this some Romeo and Juliette nonsense? Your eyes met across the battlefield and you fell in love in an instant?" Murphy mocked them.

Clarke rolled her eyes, "You did not read Romeo and Juliette."

He shrugged, "They showed the movie in the sky box."

Ignoring his response, "Lincoln switched sides during that first battle with the grounders. Tried to help us make peace."

"You did a great job," he said sarcastically. Lincoln ignored him, but Clarke hadn't. She smacked him in the chest, where she knew his healing wound was and watched him bend over in pain. "Fuck."

"Be nice."

"Fine. Okay, there's more to this story. Last time I saw you…"

Murphy traveled off just realizing the last time he had seen her. "I was shoving a knife into the man I loved." Lincoln took her hand then and the memories and pain retreated if only for a moment.

"Yeah," Murphy said weakly.

Lincoln continued the story for her, "I returned not long after that. I had been made into a reaper by Mount Weather but was saved."

"No shit? Octavia's grounder had been taken by those things. Maybe you ate him?" Murphy sniggered. Clarke and Lincoln shared a look. "Oh wait? No? Really?" Pointing a finger at Lincoln, "Your baby Blake's grounder?" Murphy stopped walking and began laughing heartily as Lincoln and Clarke stood there watching. Clarke's annoyance rising with every passing second while Lincoln stood there as calm as ever. Sometimes she hated her husband's never-ending reserve of patience. "I can't believe this shit. All the grounder's in the world and you end up with Octavia's. If she ever sees either of you again, you're dead. How the fuck did this even happen?"

"You done," Murphy broke out into actual giggles at her look and then wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes and extended his hand to her in a please continue gesture. "I left Arkadia after Mount Weather and Lincoln left a few months after that. We met up on the road and things just happened."

"Just happened? You just happened to marry and reproduce with Octavia's ex. That's great."

"Yeah it just happened like you and Jaha just happened to free the A.I. that ended the world."

"Hey, I didn't free her, he did."

"And what exactly were you doing while he was plotting world domination."

"I was trapped in a bunker by that homicidal bitch, thank you very much."

"Homicidal? I'm shocked you guys don't get along better."

"You're right maybe I never gave her the proper chance. Maybe I should try reconnecting with her like you and Lincoln did."

Lincoln snorted. He'd let Clarke and Murphy go back and forth with each other because he found it amusing.

"Shut up."

Murphy rolled his eyes at her. "So, you got a plan, princess?"

"Kind of."

"Want to enlighten me and muscles to it."

"Lincoln knows."

"Are you purposely leaving me in the dark then? Still don't trust me."

Clarke could see the flash of hurt he tried so well to hide. "Old habits die hard." Lincoln nudged her when she was tempted to leave her statement hanging. "For what it's worth I'm proud of you. And if you follow through with me on this, you'll have more than my trust."

"What's that," Murphy asked sardonically.

"My respect."

Murphy came to a standstill. Clarke continued walking and only heard what must have been Lincoln patting Murphy firmly on the back.

…..

Clarke sat by the fire, her mind going over everything that needed to be done. It was hard because her thoughts kept drifting towards her son. Wondering what he did that day, what he ate, if he had called for her and Lincoln, or if he had cried himself to sleep like she did without him. Her thoughts began to whirl unpleasantly when they were stopped by Murphy moving to sit across from her.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked her.

"No."

"Me either." He was content to leave it at that then. Watching the fire crackle and his in front of him, his eyes never once straying. But Clarke wasn't. In the silence she could feel her mind becoming troubled once more and fought to prevent it.

"Can I ask you something?" She took Murphy's brief glance towards her as a 'yes'. "Why didn't you take the chip?"

Murphy acted as if he hadn't heard her and she figured her question would go forever unanswered.

"I was tempted to. Jaha was talking it up real nice and if you cut past the creepy religious vibes it sounds like a good deal. No more pain. No more suffering. No more sadness."

"No more anger." Clarke had filled in unintentionally. She thought Murphy would get upset with her, but he didn't, only nodded in agreement. He seemed almost happy that she understood him. John Murphy was made up pain, suffering, and anger. It's who he is.

"But when I was talking with Jaha about it, I asked him if he'd want Wells to take it? If he thought Wells would be okay taking orders from the thing that ended the world?"

"What did he say?" Clarke knew the answer to that. Wells had been her best friend, she knew him as well as he had known her. She'd made the mistake of doubting him once and had caused them precious time together. But she knew him, knew what he would have chosen.

"Nothing at first. Just gave me this confused look like he didn't know what I was talking about. So, I reminded him. 'Your son, Wells?' I asked him. And he said 'Ah yes, Wells. He would have seen that it is what's best for humanity.' But it was clear that he had no idea who I was talking about."

Clarke's breath came short. How could he forget Wells? That couldn't possibly be right? Thelonious loved Wells, he made mistakes as a father, but Clarke was sure in the fact that he loved Wells wholeheartedly. He wouldn't choose to just forget him? It wouldn't be possible.

"I figured it out then," John said ruefully. "Paradise always comes with a cost, right Clarke? The Ark. Mount Weather. They all come with a cost. To get into the city of Light you had to forget. Which isn't the worst thing right?" Murphy grew frantic as he spoke, his own eyes shining. "Forget that my dad died because of me. Forget that my mom blamed me and drank herself to death. Forget that my friends tried to hang me. Forget that I was tortured and alone and hated and…and…and. What would be so bad about that?" Would that be bad? Clarke wondered. Forgetting the horrible things, she'd done or that were done to her. Yes. She determined. It would be. She needed to remember all the bad things. She didn't think it would be fair to forget them. To so easily overcome her pain. Her whole life with Lincoln had been her learning to do it without the chip. What Jaha did was cheating and it was cruel in a way Clarke never could be.

He looked to her almost pleading for a justification that it would be okay. That he could take the chip and live in ignorant bliss and that would be okay. But he could see clearly on her face that it wouldn't be. And instead of justification he had validation for his own choice. The saddest smile Clarke had ever had the misfortune of seeing graced his face as he went on, "If that were it, I would have taken that thing in a second Clarke. But that wasn't it. Because forgetting those things meant forgetting my dad taking me to the observation deck to look at the stars. Or forgetting my mom reading to me at night before bed. Or how happy and in love they were and how much they loved me once. Taking that chip meant forgetting too much." Murphy wiped roughly under his nose and sniffled. "No. Fuck that, Clarke. I'll live with the pain."

Clarke never thought she would have so much respect for John Murphy in her life. She closed her eyes knowing how hard that decision was for him because it would be just as hard for her. When she opened them again, it was like they had never spoken. Murphy was as calm as ever, staring back at the fire.

Clarke got up and placed her hand on his shoulders, feeling him tense. "You did the right thing, John." Her voice was barely audible, but he heard her. She knew because she felt him relax under her grip. She let him go and went to her bedroll, where Lincoln was pretending to rest peacefully. They both ignored the soft cries coming from their companion as they held each other tightly.

…..

Reaching the island, she had expected…more. Murphy assured her it was more than met the eye but still. The Destroyer of Worlds should have a more sinister lair. Maybe that made it more impressive, Clarke thought idly. A.L.I.E. didn't need the flash because she had the bang.

Murphy had hidden the backpack containing A.L.I.E.'s portable network in the most brilliantly asinine place. The bunker he had been kept prisoner in. Murphy had made sure to jack the door open when he'd gone down refusing to be trapped down there once more. When he returned with the bag Clarke took it and began to head towards the mansion where Murphy said A.L.I.E.'s main servers had survived all this time. Lincoln walked shoulder to shoulder with her, appearing as if he would follow her into the gates of hell if she led him there.

"Clarke! Where are you going? Are you crazy? She'll send the drones after us!" Murphy yelled as he scrambled to catch up with the couple.

"I know."

"That's bad. You know, that right?"

"Yes."

"Now might be a good time to let me in on your crazy ass plan." Clarke gave him a look of refusal. Murphy released a frustrated sigh, "Look, Clarke I'm here, I've got nowhere else to go. Whatever this is, I'm in it. Trust me."

Clarke turned to Lincoln who gave her an imperceptible- imperceptible to anyone but her- nod of approval. "I don't know how to open the case." Murphy nodded having known Clarke's limitations. She had mused to Lincoln that Raven would be the only person she knew who could destroy it. She'd considered taking it to the other woman, discussing it with Lincoln more than once. At the end of the day, they decided against it. It would bring them to close to that world and on top of that there was a reason Murphy came to her and not Raven or Arkadia. There was too much at stake. Too much temptation to use the technology for their own benefit. And just as she had destroyed the weapons at Mount Weather, she would destroy this. People couldn't fail if you didn't give them the chance. "You don't know how to open the case." Murphy nodded once more. "The only chance we have of destroying this thing is by getting inside it, then it should be fairly simple." Clarke was assuming the whole cavemen method of just bashing the shit out of it would work. The outer shell was impenetrable, but the inside wasn't, and she was fairly certain she could figure out how to make the reacquisitioned missile parts go boom. Murphy had a puzzled expression not following her train of thought. "I only know of two people (using the term loosely) who know how to open this thing. Jaha and…" Clarke trailed off when she saw Murphy catch on.

Clarke didn't mention the second issue while he worked it out. If getting A.L.I.E. to help destroy her own portable power source so she was stuck on the island was a hail Mary play. Then getting her to let Clarke near her main servers so that she could destroyer her once and for all was laughable.

"And what exactly makes you think that crazy bitch is going to help us."

Clarke didn't answer as she heard the humming of drones flying through the air towards them. They came into view and stopped to hover threateningly above them nearly ten feet off. With their weapons it would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

Clarke looked towards the drones as if she were staring the A.I. in the face then slowly held up the backpack. "We have something you want. I think we should talk." Clarke held her breath as she waited for any type of response.

She released it when the drones buzzed slightly and turned flying back towards from whence, they had come.

"I guess that means come in." Murphy snarked.

Clarke marveled at the luxury of the manor. It was completely untouched by the destruction the rest of the world had suffered, most likely by A.L.I.E.'s design. She spared her own home but had no contention with pulling apart everyone else's. Even Lincoln, who kept his thoughts so guarded, mouth was slightly agape, also stunned by the opulence. Murphy lingered behind them. Not as if he would run, but wary of the things hiding behind the corners.

As Clarke neared the center of the room she jumped in surprise when a woman in a red dress appeared from nowhere. Clarke reached her hand out and swept through the hologram. Murphy had told her its likeness was based off of her creator, Becca. She had been a beautiful woman.

"Welcome Clarke," A.L.I.E.'s voice rang out, a serene expression on its face.

Clarke looked at her curiously. She saw Lincoln out of the corner of her eye taking up position beside them. They wouldn't be much he could do if something went wrong, but the familiar position of defense probably eased him slightly. She could feel Murphy just behind her, eyeing the hologram with undisguised hate. A.L.I.E.'s eyes flickered over to Murphy watching him.

"You know who I am?" A.L.I.E. turned back to Clarke.

"Yes. Thelonious has shown me much about you. Clarke Griffin, prison number 319, crime treason, age twenty-four, born October 14th, 2131 on the Ark to Doctor Abby Griffin and Jake Griffin, who was executed for treason. Before incarceration had been studying to become a doctor. Sent to earth with her fellow hundred juvenile prisoners. Became leader to said group but disappeared after the events of Mount Weather."

"You know about Mount Weather?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Thelonious has returned to see me many times since John interfered with our plans to save mankind." Clarke held up a hand to silence Murphy when he scoffed.

"Is he here now?"

"No. He is currently out looking for John." A.L.I.E. turned to said man once more. "You hid it here, on my island, without me knowing. How?"

Murphy smirked. "Figure it out," he told her. A.L.I.E. looked like she was doing just that, calculating every scenario that would have enabled Murphy to sneak back onto the island and hide it under her nose.

"But I brought it back."

Clarke suppressed the cold chill A.L.I.E.'s gaze threatened to push through her.

"Yes, you did. Why?" her voice did a wonderful imitation of curiosity.

"You know who I am. What I did."

"Exterminated the remaining population of Mount Weather in order to save your own captive people. Resulting in the deaths of 350 people, for the sake of 48. A decision based on loyalty."

"No. Based on facts. Mount Weather's population were ill-suited to survive the ground, even with their advanced technology. My people had proven their resourcefulness and ability to adapt in comparison. Furthermore, without us their population wouldn't have been able to leave the mountain, the very air would have killed them if not the grounders who outnumbered them. Lastly, there was no guarantee the marrow treatment was permanent. They were a liability."

"You calculated on who had the best chances of survival."

"Isn't that what you would have done," Clarke asked as she walked around the hologram slowly.

"Yes."

"Murphy told me about you too. Just as Jaha told you about me. The A.I. that ended the world based on one simple flawed founding principal." Clarke completed her rotation and came to a stop in front of the other 'woman'. "Too many people."

"My assessment was not flawed." A.L.I.E. stated.

"It was."

"Elaborate."

"You reduced the population. Was the world fixed? Did everything begin working in perfect order?" A.L.I.E. didn't respond. "No. All you did was make people more desperate, more savage. You sent them back to the dark age. Was that what you had intended?"

"No."

"But you've realized your mistake." A.L.I.E. looked at her with something close to intrigue. "The problem isn't too many people. It is people. People will always act in the best interest of themselves rather than the whole. They're selfish. Illogical."

"Yes."

"But you've found a way to fix that."

"Yes."

"With this." Clarke lifted up the pack. "You're trapped here, but with this you would be out there, able to expand and grow." Clarke paused. "I could help you do that."

"You see the light," with A.L.I.E.'s even tone she couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement.

"I do." Clarke squared her shoulders as she prepared to repeat history, "Please state your core command."

"My core command is to make life better."

"How would you do that?"

"By fixing the root problem."

"What is the root problem, A.L.I.E.?"

"Free will."


End file.
